


Aftermath

by Callie_Cat, terriblycontrite



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Drama, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Drama, Drugs, Eventual Smut, Hurt Spencer, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Massage, Medical, Medical Trauma, Misunderstandings, Murder, Poison, References to Drugs, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spencer Reid Whump, Suicide, Team as Family, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 104,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24262522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie_Cat/pseuds/Callie_Cat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/terriblycontrite/pseuds/terriblycontrite
Summary: When the team underestimates a suspect’s capabilities and  level of involvement in their case, people get injured, the suspect gets away, the team dynamic is altered, and a slow chase begins that has no foreseeable end in sight.(AU tag to S10, ep10 Amelia Porter)
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 143
Kudos: 222





	1. Meet Amelia Porter

## Chapter 1

###  **Meet Amelia Porter**

Hotch had been working in his field a long time; certainly, long enough to know that second guessing himself was rarely productive and generally only led to diffidence; that and drowning his sorrows in expensive scotch. However, with the events of the day replaying in a relentless loop in his head, he could not help but try to unravel where exactly he had gone wrong. The facts were that nothing had gone as anticipated and as a result one of his agents was fighting for their life down a long hall in an unfamiliar city’s top trauma center, while the rest of the team was still out in the field trying to clean up the mess. The profile that he approved as unit chief had let them down. He had been so sure of himself that now he was left to wonder if a higher power just could not resist the chance to put him in his place.

The profile had failed them and that was never supposed to happen…

* * *

Hotch liked to feel in control, right now he didn’t, and it was making him uneasy. Their unsub was out there, with a child hostage, leaving a trail of bodies on his flight to a destination that they had yet to identify. While investigating the burned and abandoned car, they had found a probable path leading into a mass of intersecting trails where an experienced hiker could hide for days. Feeling dejected and at a dead end, Hotch asked the sheriff what was down there if they were to follow the tracks. The sheriff replied, “A mess more trails for the most part”. The unsub had to be heading to a specific location, otherwise there was no reason to leave the car and continue on foot. It had to be part of his plan, nothing else made sense.

He heard Rossi ask the sheriff if the trails would take you to any homes, as he ran his eyes over the tree line trying to put himself in the unsub’s shoes. The sheriff replied that there was a small collection of modest farms and houses in a valley some miles further on and Hotch knew that had to be it. Farland had to be meeting someone at one of those properties, someone who he knew would help, or someone that he planned to kill to get what he needed. Either way they had to hurry, and Garcia was their best hope of narrowing down their search.

* * *

Hotch was used to thinking fast and analyzing situations to make quick, but sound decisions on the fly. Using the available facts, Hotch concluded that Natasha Banks was almost certainly the woman they were looking for, the former Amelia Porter. She had come from Canada, the timeline was perfect, and if that’s where Farland was headed then that’s where he wanted to be. Of course, he could not negate the fact that Jane Appleby was a possibility, so he needed to split the team which was never his first choice. In this case though it was necessary, so thinking fast, he motioned to Rossi.

“Alright, Dave, you, Kate and Reid go to Jane Appleby’s house” he ordered “the rest of us will take Natasha Banks.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, he knew Rossi would already be rounding up his half of the team. What he didn’t know, is why he had nagging feelings of doubt as he headed for his SUV. He should feel confident, they had a plan, odds were his team would be confronting the unsub, and he trusted Rossi to handle the other team come what may. Doing his best to push his reservations to the back of his mind, Hotch climbed into the driver seat and turned the ignition, as the rear passenger door closed, he turned on the emergency lights and sped off.

* * *

Rossi and his team were on the road within minutes of Hotch’s decision, speeding toward their location, when Reid voices a concern from the backseat.

“If Benton always intended to meet Amelia after his release, why did he go home first?” He asks, though it seemed more to himself than the two in the front seat.

“Good question” Rossi says, wondering why they hadn’t considered that sooner. “It wasn’t just to take revenge on Dad, or he wouldn’t have stayed for dinner.”

“It wasn’t until after he was on the run that he went to Amelia’s old house. It feels improvised.” Callahan puts in.

Rossi glances in the rear-view mirror to see Spencer looking thoughtful. “Do you have a theory Reid?” he asks, turning his eyes back to the road. They would be at their location very soon and Rossi was feeling uncomfortable with this level of uncertainty.

“I think I do” he says slowly, drawing out his words, seeming to mull it over even as he spoke. “What if… he went home with the hope his father had forgiven him, and had every intention of staying? Then when that went wrong, he had to think fast to come up with another plan, and that plan was Amelia. Going to her old house was probably his way of finding her, and I think the reason she was his last resort is that he is afraid of her.”

“Why would he be afraid? He’s bigger, stronger and we profiled him as the dominant” Callahan asks, confused and trying to grasp what Reid was getting at.

“I believe we were wrong. I think Amelia is very much the dominant, if I’m right she was the driving force in killing Miriam, and she will be every bit as dangerous as Benton Farland, likely more so.” Spencer concludes.

Rossi has to admit it makes a lot of sense, but it doesn't change the end game. They still need to hit both locations and diffuse a bad situation that was probably getting worse by the minute. He sighs and says, “I think you just might be right kid. Call Hotch and give him the heads up”

* * *

Dave Rossi doesn't get nervous anymore, or not that he admits to anyway. He has stormed more locations than he is able to count in his head, and he has always been good at thinking on his feet. That said, pulling up to the location armed with the new information revealed on the drive, he resolves to be on high alert. They will approach quietly and listen first, before smashing their way in.

The house has a long winding drive and is surrounded by multiple storage containers, randomly placed behind and to either side of the main dwelling. The yard immediately surrounding the house is relatively barren except for a tractor rusting beside a lop-sided shed. The place is in passable condition, though it seems to be lacking in care.

The three agents approach at separate angles, all converging carefully on the front door, trying to make no more noise than the wind, intent on maintaining the element of surprise. Leaning in toward the door, Rossi can hear voices inside, what sounds like someone crying, and scuffling sounds that indicate more than one person is moving around in the room directly on the other side of the door. By this time, his gut is telling him that, for better or worse, they are in the right place.

Callahan caught Rossi’s eye and jerked her head to the side, silently asking for his permission to head around back. He nods but Reid shakes his head, gesturing for her to stay put. Rossi studys Reid for quick second, trying to understand his objection but he agreed with Callahan; they need to at least be aware of any other entrances, so he motions for her to go.

Rossi counts to 10 in his head, giving Callahan a moment to get around back, then points to the door and holds up 3 fingers to indicate Reid should be ready on his count. Then he takes a step back, squares off in front of the door, finishes the silent count before kicking said door with all his strength. It bursts inwards instantly, swinging open with force, slamming into the wall behind. From just behind him he hears Reid shout “FBI!”

With a practiced eye Rossi raises his gun and shouts, “Drop your weapon!”, taking only a split second to survey the scene in front of him, knowing Reid is doing the same. A young male darts away from the older woman he had been standing next to, grabbing the younger female in the room. Holding her in front of him, gun to her head, he backs up into the corner of the small dining area. The older woman is quick to throw herself off to the side as Callahan enters from behind her, quickly dropping the knife she was holding as if it had suddenly burned her. Rossi swiftly sweeps it away with his foot, still assessing the changing situation as it unfolds.

The male was most definitely Benton Farland and he's holding a terrified Rebecca Farland, hands bound, in front of him as a shield. This is who Rossi levels his gun at. Benton's eyes are darting from Rossi to the woman now standing near him, a woman Rossi has no doubt is Amelia Porter. Rebecca is sobbing behind the duct tape covering her mouth, Benton seems confused and scared in his own right, while Amelia Porter seems oddly calm. Rossi glances at Reid who is next to him, only a scant few feet away, and directly behind the now unarmed Amelia.

“You’re not taking me with you!” Benton screams, brandishing the weapon at them, before pressing it back to Rebecca’s temple.

The formerly calm Amelia is suddenly crying and shouting “He’s crazy! Can’t you see that? He broke into my house, he was going to force me to hurt her, just like his sister,” she wails, gesturing toward the girl.

“Then why did you run?” Callahan questions Amelia, who turns on her with a vicious glare that doesn’t escape Rossi’s notice.

“He’s a madman! But who would have believed me over a seventeen-year-old boy?!” she cries, venom dripping from every word.

“And you’re a fugitive from the law!” Reid emphasizes from behind Amelia, reminding her of his presence. She instantly redirects her glare over her shoulder.

Rossi makes eye contact with Benton and pleads “Put the gun down. Amelia is the one we want.”

“She’s the one we want, and you led us to her” Reid jumps in using a soothing tone, hoping to garner some trust from Benton.

Benton turns to Reid with an almost hopeful look, that disappears as his eyes dart to Amelia. “Andy told us everything Benton. He’s ok. He’s in the hospital and he knows you never meant for any of it to happen.” Reid continues. Benton’s eyes dart around the room, maybe looking for an escape, considering his options.

“Just let her go, Benton! None of this is her fault!” Callahan shouts suddenly. Benton draws his breath in sharply, yanking Rebecca back against him.

“You don’t know anything!” he screams, directing the words at Callahan before turning his head to look at Reid. His expression is wary, and Rossi can tell he has no plan of escape. He is cornered and desperate, they don’t have much time to diffuse the scene.

Rossi catches Amelia making eye contact with Benton, then suddenly she turns and bolts for the door. Rossi only has the time to register Reid attempting to holster his weapon so he can grab her, before Benton shoves the girl at him. Rossi just barely manages to get his gun out of the way before she slams into him hard enough to knock him off balance. Benton throws himself toward Callahan, with the supposed of hope of escaping out the door behind her. He is lightening quick and knocks a surprised Callahan’s weapon off to the side, and she just manages to get her foot out to trip him as he darts past. By now Rossi has steadied the girl, pushing her behind him, and he is on Benton before he can regain his feet, struggling to secure him, slamming his wrist into the ground to disarm him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Reid losing his grip on Amelia. Gun still in one hand, he has a hold of her by the arm, but she is not making it easy. With a twist and a quick backward kick that hits Reid hard in the knee, she frees herself and is out the door. Reid winces but is right on her tail, gun raised as he follows her out the door.

Steadily gaining control of Benton, Rossi registers the danger of having Reid bolt off alone, and the urgency of getting Amelia, a woman who has a proven ability to remain hidden, back before she escapes for good. He shouts at Callahan “Go help Reid! Hurry! NOW!”


	2. The Real Amelia Porter

* * *

Spencer didn’t have time to think before chasing Amelia out the door, he just knew he needed to catch her. She was clearly a master at avoiding capture, with 12 years experience under her belt already, and if she got away now it might be forever. Even as he gave chase, he reviewed the interactions he had observed inside the house, between Benton and Amelia, that served to shore up his suspicions of her, if not confirm them. He certainly did not think that Amelia was a harmless participant in Benton’s drama.

Amelia had kicked him hard to get away and he was limping, feeling the burn from his knee where it had been mercilessly tested in its socket. Still, he was only seconds behind her. He turns right, toward the sound of running footsteps, swinging around the side of the house, gun pointed and ready, but there is no sign of Amelia. There are two large shipping containers standing side by side off to his right, and a small shed situated about six feet behind the container closest to him; this shed hadn’t been in his original inventory of the structures on the property. The door is shut, and he approaches swiftly but cautiously, using his foot to kick the door which swings away easily. He is poised and ready, but the space is empty except for a crudely built tool bench along the back wall, scattered with clay pots.

Behind the shed at the edge of the backyard is a stretch of open field that is tilled with nothing growing, so no cover for an escape. He hears a sharp thump that seems to come from between the containers, so he turns that way, still cautious but moving briskly, as he rounds the end of the first. Seeing no one he continues down the makeshift alley scanning both ways before venturing out the other side and making his way all the way around the second container. All clear, no sign of anyone.

He turns back toward the house, immediately noting that the door on the little shed is now shut; the same door he had kicked open moments before. Heading back that way he makes his way around to the back of the shed looking for another door or window he had possibly missed, another way someone could be coming and going. Nothing was around back except for a few carelessly stacked wooden crates, but he stops dead when he hears a loud clang, like something heavy hitting metal. He makes his way all the way around the shed, carefully emerging at the front and pausing to listen. He isn't sure where the noise came from and if he's honest, he is getting a little nervous. It has probably been no more than a handful of minutes since he followed Amelia out the door, but the woman knows the terrain better than him and is doing a good job of staying concealed.

He makes his way to the shed door again, this time taking care to be as quiet as possible, reaching over slowly, giving the door a test push with his hand. When it opens easily, he leaps forward and is once again faced with empty space. Frustrated, he is considering that she is trying to wait him out, when he is startled by another loud clang. He can only imagine that it's something or someone hitting the side of one of the shipping containers. Turning back that way, he only just registers footsteps behind him before he is hit hard in the head with something heavy, most likely a rock his analytical mind informs him, as he fights to remain conscious, even as he sinks to his knees.

* * *

Distracted by Reid’s departure, Rossi briefly loses his grip on Benton, who manages to regain his feet, before Rossi is on him again, using his entire weight to push him to the floor. Cursing, Benton makes every effort to throw him off and Rossi realizes he’s stronger than he initially gave him credit for, and it takes a short tussle to get him cuffed.

“Now stop fighting! It won’t do any good. You’re headed back to prison kid, no way out now.” He states using his knee in the middle of the younger mans back to hold him down.

“Whatever old man” Benton spits, “Amelia got away. That’s all that matters, and you wont ever find her this time!” He laughs manically, “do you have any idea what she will do now?”

Rossi in fact did not know, but he wasn’t quite ready to give Benton the satisfaction of asking. Instead he replies in a disinterested tone, “sounds like a bunch of sour grapes from the guy who got caught.”

Benton bucks angrily under him, attempting to twist to the side a couple times before appearing to give up. Breathing hard he relaxes some, before saying quietly, “seriously, you don’t get it.”

Sighing Rossi slowly moves off of the kid, watching for any sign that he's going to make another break for it. “No, I probably don’t, why don’t you fill me in then?”

Pulling Benton up to a sitting position, he props him against the wall and looks him in directly in the face. The man’s eyes are wild and desperate as he stares at Rossi for a moment, searching for something, before looking off over Rossi’s shoulder. Turning slightly to follow his gaze, Rossi sees Callahan hugging the girl, Rebecca, to her chest as she continues to shake and sob.

Benton asks, “Is she ok? I really didn’t want to hurt her. Or my Dad. It just worked out that way.”

Rossi isn’t listening though, because he just registered Callahan, still in the room, which meant Reid out chasing their other suspect alone.

“Callahan!” He snaps. “What are you doing? I told you to go help Reid!”

To her credit Callahan’s head jolts up as if she’s just been shaken out of a daze.

“What?” She asks. Then “Right you did. I’m going now.”

Gently, she pushes the shaking girl away from her, and turns for the door, drawing her gun as she disappears from view. Rossi is frustrated he hadn’t noticed Callahan sooner. Reid is God knows where by now with no back up. At least the woman was unarmed, he told himself, but it was imperative that they find her. Benton’s words rang in his mind…Amelia got away…Do you have any idea what she will do now?

* * *

On his knees Spencer feels someone tug the gun from his hand, but he can’t do anything about it. He has no strength in his limbs, he knows he can’t stand so he allows himself to slump backwards, and it feels so good to lie down as nausea washes over him. He feels hands slip under his arms and he is being dragged backward, not far, through a doorway he thinks, and then someone is pushing him up to sit. He cringe as sharp pain shoots through his head, like the twisting of a knife.

He can feel someone near him, and he battles to open his eyes, squinting in the near dark, the only light in the room coming from the cracks around an ill-fitting door. The shed, it has to be the little shed. His vision is swimming and it hurts to force his eyes open but when he does, he recognizes the tool bench, and crouching in front of him is Amelia Porter.

She’s smiling pleasantly, holding a large knife in one hand, his gun in the other.

“Hello agent, I’m glad you’re awake because we don’t have much time.” She says, looking him directly in the eye. Opening his mouth he tries to talk, to stall. Callahan or Rossi had to be nearby. If he was lucky the others, Hotch, JJ, and Morgan would be here soon too, having realized their location was a dead end.

Placing his gun behind her, she puts a finger to her lips. “No, its ok you don’t need to do any talking” she says. Then, in a move so quick he can't track it in his current condition, she is on him, straddling his legs, and plunging the knife up under his vest and deep into his abdomen. Reid cries out but she presses her hand to his mouth. Leaning in closer she speaks directly into his ear, still holding the knife buried to the hilt in his stomach, “I’m not stupid Agent, and I didn’t waste 12 years of my life running scared from the likes of you. I spent the time teaching myself to be the best at what I do. I learned how strong I am. I got the jump on you this time, and I always will!” With that last word she yanks the knife out in one smooth pull. Reid wails in agony, but he doubts anyone can hear with her hand still clamped over his mouth. He summons all his strength and brings his arms up to push against her, but she bats him away easily.

She takes her hand away from his mouth but before he can speak, or scream, she brushes her lips over his and he recoils, moaning at the sudden movement. Her hair falls in a curtain around his face, and he notices that she smells good, earthy with a hint of fresh cut flowers. He tries again to push her off, but she rears back, and before he can react, she has plunged the knife down into his neck, right above his collarbone, with a jarring force. The pain is white hot and all consuming and his vision wavers as he tries to breath through it. Tries to maintain his hold on consciousness.

Hand still on the knife she leans in to speak again, “Listening to you talk in there made me angry. You think you know the truth, that you have it all figured out, but you are too full of yourself. You’ve forgotten that you aren’t the only genius in the world.”

His head falls back against the wall behind him, and he moans feeling the warmth of the blood soaking his shirt, the sting of the blade still lodged in his neck, and the touch of her skin as she brushes her fingers over his cheek. She tilts his chin, so he is looking into her eyes and she smiles again, “You miscalculated and misjudged, agent. I can assure you I am much more dangerous than you deduced. How ignorant can such a smart boy be? Maybe all you are is their trick pony? They are taking an awfully long time to find you, honey.” She laughs and it isn’t a cackle, it’s a beautiful, melodic sound, in full contrast to the situation. Likely intentionally, to show him just how capable of deceit she really is.

She takes a second to smooth his hair back from his face, then pulls the knife from his neck without warning, immediately pressing her hand over the wound. He is crying now, tears running down his face, as she presses the knife to his throat. “Hush now, we don’t want company yet,” she admonishes lightly when he moans, “I want you to know that manipulating Benton wasn't even a challenge. He came to me ready to be used. You don’t have any idea what I am capable of, Agent, not yet. You will though, because I am going to disappear, but I won’t be idle.” Her expression abruptly changes to a glare, and she digs her fingers into the neck wound, making him wail again. This time she doen't stop him.

Vaguely, from far away he hears the sound of tires on gravel. She glances toward the door, and he swallows hard. Mentally assessing his condition, he knows he doesn’t have much time. Looking back to him, her hand tightens in his hair and she yanks his head back harshly. When she speaks again her voice is harsh and cold, “Humbling you was my pleasure, but I have to go” she says, not rushing, enunciating every word, “because I am going to get away and I am going to thrive. People will die because you won’t be able to catch me. For awhile your friends won’t even care, as long as they manage to save your worthless skin, but make no mistake…” she pauses, and he can hear voices shouting. Hotch’s voice calling his name. She jerks on his hair again, twisting her fingers in his wound, and he gasps. “I will never be done, and you can spend your career getting to know the real me, Doctor Reid.”

Her hands are suddenly gone and he can hear the voices again…Aaron, Derek…she is still kneeling in front of him smiling, and he catches the glint just before the knife is plunged into his thigh and he is screaming for all he’s worth. Then she’s gone, and the voices are getting louder and he prays that his friends will be able to save him.


	3. Saving Him

## Chapter 3

### Saving Him

Hotch and his team arrive on the scene at the Appleby farm seconds after the local law enforcement, who came from the opposite direction, sirens blaring. Pulling up to the property he sees Dave escorting a handcuffed Benton toward one of patrol cars in the yard. Hotch is quick to exit the vehicle, JJ, and Morgan right behind him, ready to hear that his team is safe and accounted for. They all freeze when they hear screaming. It is a desperate and injured sound, that sends a shiver down Hotch’s spine, and the silence that comes after is even more chilling.

“Amelia Porter ran, and Reid went after her. I sent Callahan too, but she was pretty far behind. Neither of them has come back Aaron.” Rossi says, expression somber, from where he was handing Benton Farland over to the newly arrived local police.

Hotch doesn't even take time to nod, just gestures to the far side of the house. “Take JJ and search that side, Morgan and I will go this way” he orders, barely waiting for Rossi to acknowledge him before heading off, weapon drawn, Morgan following, calling Reid’s name.

* * *

Spencer’s first thought, after he realizes Amelia is gone, is to reach his right hand up with no small amount of effort and wipe the tears off his face. The pain is worth it so no one sees him crying. He groans thinking of the teasing he will receive when Morgan hears he failed to subdue a woman in her 40’s; and while he was armed too. Next, he attempts to assess his injuries as best he can in the semi dark, barely able to move or even open his eyes all the way. He would deny being scared, he has been injured in the line of duty before and he's no stranger to pain. He wonders about his inability to move his left arm though, and the amount of blood that was still coming from the wound in his neck. That, and the knife still lodged in his thigh that is probably the only thing stopping a lethal arterial bleed.

He can hear the scuffling of feet, voices shouting back and forth, what sounds like doors slamming and chains being rattled. He catches certain words and phrases as the voices get closer like, “Clear!” and “Over here!”. His is own name repeatedly. He knows he should call out, but he is so tired, and his head hurts so badly; like it's being steadily pressed in a vice. It reminds him of an old mafia movie he watched with Derek once. True, it was historically and factually inaccurate, but they had used a vice as a means of torture. He moves his right hand to his neck in an attempt to stop the flow of blood, but it takes all of his energy. Just as he is contemplating letting his eyes close, he hears a familiar voice right outside the door. Honestly, his favourite voice.

“Reid, where are you? You need to tell us where you are.” It is loud, urgent, and makes him flinch, but he manages a very weak response.

“Aaron?” he tries, then again because he isn't even sure he spoke out loud the first time. “In here Aaron!”

The door is flung open before he finishes and Hotch is standing in front of him, gun drawn, tensed and ready for a fight; a fight he wouldn’t find because Amelia got away. He sweeps the small space before his eyes land on Spencer. His expression falters, and he instantly holsters his gun, falling on his knees in front of him.

* * *

Hotch and Derek do quick search of their side of the property. Hotch is forcing himself to be thorough to spite the ever-increasing fear that they have heard nothing since that initial scream. He also tries not to think about how badly he misjudged the situation; he can reproach himself later, after they find their missing agent.  
The yard holds two shipping containers set side by side with a wide alley between, both chained and padlocked. They rattlr the doors and called out, but move on quickly while they wait for bolt cutters. Heading straight down the side of the first container, while Morgan heads down the far side of the second, Hotch clears the open side entrance to the house, shouting for Reid again, to no avail. In front of him, directly behind the first container is a shed, door closed, small but certainly big enough to hide in, so he heads there next. Morgan shouts “Clear!” from his side of the containers, Hotch shouts back “Over here!”. Then, with more desperation than he would like clear in his voice, “Reid! You need to let us know where you are!”

He pauses to listen and is rewarded when he hears his name, so quietly he's sure he had imagined it. But then, louder, “in here Aaron!”

There is nowhere it could have come from but inside the shed, so Hotch quickly flings the door aside, gun ready, sweeping the small area, not sure what to expect; what he finds is what he hadn’t been allowing his imagination to conjure up.

His eyes fall on his missing agent, propped in a sitting position against the side wall, one horrible thought crossing his mind…He won’t survive…but he shakes it off yelling for Morgan to hurry. Then he holsters his weapon and to on his knees in front of the younger man. He takes in the scene with a practiced eye, using all his self control to keep his expression neutral. The light in the shed is dim, but Hotch can see the blood. So much blood; it drenches the knees of his pants, streaks Spencer’s face, covers his hands, and flows freely from a wound on the left side of his neck. He is using his right hand to cover it, too loosely to be effective. Most egregious to look at is a hunting knife, still protruding from Spencer’s right thigh, buried to the hilt; but with blood only oozing around the wound, it's not his first priority. Glassy eyed but focused on Hotch, Spencer tries to move, shifting his weight to sit straighter, spurring Hotch into action.

“Ah no! Stay still, that’s an order Spencer,” he barks, not really meaning to sound so stern. Pushing Spencer’s hand away he places his own over the neck wound, pressing down hard, using his other hand to run over Spencer’s chest and down his front looking for other injuries. Noting the blood lower on his belly, he asks “Where else are you hurt? Tell me Spencer!” Again, harsher than he intends.

“She got away Aaron” Spencer stammers weakly, lifting his head, and leaning toward Aaron, just as Morgan arrives in the doorway. Morgan’s expression flits from shocked, to angry, and then just dark, waiting for Hotch to tell him what he needs.

“We need an ambulance Derek! Are they on their way?” Hotch fights to keep the desperation out of his voice, as he struggles with the Velcro straps at the bottom of Spencer’s vest, his tampering eliciting a cry from the agent. “Sorry,” he says sincerely, gentling his voice.

“Already on their way” he answers quickly, swallowing back the sick feeling in his throat. “I’ll let the others know he’s been found, and be right back” he finishes, waiting for a nod.

“Derek” Hotch shouts before he takes off, “radio in and let emergency services know its critical, hurry back, and bring a blanket.” Finally managing to free the Velcro, he pushes the vest aside, to find another wound, presumably a stab wound, hard to assess through clothing, but not bleeding as profusely as the neck wound.

He turns his full attention back on Spencer, now slumped forward, speaking quietly but not making much sense. Using his free hand, Hotch attempts to push him back. Spencer’s hand, his right, the left hanging limp at his side, comes up quicker than he thought possible in his current state, to grab at Hotch’s front.

“Don’t” he moans, “please don’t. I’m cold. I just want to sleep. You smell good, safe right? I’ll be safe now. Please. Don’t go.”

* * *

Spencer would cling tighter to Aaron if he had the strength, he wants him to stay close, to make him feel safe. He smells good, felt good, solid, and strong. Spencer isn't sure what he is afraid of. Amelia is gone, she did her worst, but he will be ok he thinks. If Aaron would just stay anyway, but he is trying to push him away, talking to someone about leaving.

“Spencer stop, I’m not going anywhere” Aaron’s voice, right in his ear. “Now listen, I am going to move, let you lean on me, but you have to cooperate.” Very directive, reminding him this was his boss. His boss who was indulging him like a child, seeing him at his very weakest. In the back of his mind he knows that should bother him. The team already sees him as their youngest, the most vulnerable, what had Amelia called him? A trick pony? Lots of brains but weak in the field. Can knock down a stack of paperwork, but not a suspect.

He cries out as he's shifted, distracted from his train of thought, the pressure on his neck released and then replaced making him wince at the flash of pain. His eyes water, and he arches his back trying to find a comfortable position when every part of him burns or aches. Then Aaron is behind him, pulling him back against his chest, left arm wrapping around his front to keep pressure on his neck, his right coming around his back, pulling him closer still, and holding him steady.

“I don’t know where she hid Aaron” his voice is hard even for him to hear. “I thought I was careful. Needed to find her.” He stumbles on the last sentence.

“Hmmnn” Aaron acknowledges. “It’s not important now. You know what I would like to hear though? I’d like to hear about Salt Lake City. I bet you have some great facts in that head of yours.” It is said kindly, without a hint of mocking, but Spencer knows he is being indulged. He smiles tiredly and thinks so be it then.

“Well it used to be named Great Salt Lake City, because it’s so close to the Great Salt Lake of course. They dropped the great in 1868.” It takes some energy to talk, and to recall the stored facts from his memory, but he is more comfortable now. He isn't holding himself up, and he's warmer too. Trying to shake off some of the haze clouding his mind, he is searching for more interesting information when Derek appears again. Draping a blanket over them, he says nothing, just exchanges a “look” with Aaron over his head. Spencer doesnt't miss it, but chooses to ignore it.

“Salt Lake City is home to the first Kentucky Fried Chicken Restaurant. A lot of people don’t know that,” he can hear sirens now as he continues. “Utah has a very high birth rate, and even though it is known for being conservative and has a huge religious population, it also has a large LGBT community. I thought that was very interesting.” He hears Hotch chuckle at that but he's not sure why. Derek is kneeling facing them and he can see him smile a little, before going back to looking intense. “It’s true” he feels he should add, “It was even voted Gayest City in the USA by The Advocate,” he pauses to give it some thought. “I think it was in 2012 but I would have to check that.”

“I have to say I didn’t know any of that Spencer,” Aaron is saying. The sirens are loud now, so loud it hurts his head. He feels Aarons breath against his ear as he leans close and whispers, “I want to listen to you talk for a lifetime Spencer, so just hang on. Hang on, Spencer.”

* * *

Two ambulances roar into the yard, sirens ear splittingly loud, and the relief between Hotch and Morgan is palpable. Hotch can feel how cold Spencer is getting, hear the last of his strength fading as he speaks, feel his body growing heavier as he relies increasingly more on Hotch to hold him up. From his position Derek swears he can see Spencer’s face getting paler, his eyes closing for longer with each slow blink, and all the blood. He doesn't just see it, but smells it as a distinct metallic tang in the air.  
He knows the rest of the team are standing outside, and JJ’s voice is calling to the paramedics, directing them back to the shed. He can hear the stretcher being wheeled over the packed dirt, and then shouted instructions right outside the door. Morgan sees Hotch close his eyes, and he wonders if he is praying or trying to hold back tears. It's probably both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. Maximum Damage

Lights flashing and siren wailing the ambulance sped off, churning up a cloud of dust in its wake, the team, down two members, watching it disappear. There was a silence that felt physical as they stood there, everyone lost in thought, no one wanting to suggest their next move. They all knew the dangers of their chosen profession, that mitigating risk didn’t eliminate it, but a day that ended like this wasn’t right and Derek for one, wants answers.  
Rossi is the first to speak, automatically taking the lead in Hotch’s absence, knowing they need to wrap things up here. “We need to make sure we have searched every inch of this property. She didn’t disappear by magic, if we can figure out how she got away, maybe we can figure out how to find her.” His voice doesn't give any clue as to how he is feeling, he's had years of practice schooling his emotions, but Derek knew he was no less affected than the rest of them.  
“I found a greenhouse on the other side of the property. It’s pretty far back, I don’t remember seeing it when we pulled up.” Callahan speaks up hesitantly. “It could be how she was making money, looks like she was growing plants to sell.”  
Rossi nods, “The locals have the house and shed covered so let’s all go take a look at this greenhouse. I don’t feel like splitting up just yet.” Rossi doesn't think any of them should be processing out here, not so soon anyway.  
Shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to head off with the others, Derek can't help but look back at the little shed, so unassuming for being the site of a horror show. He can't resist asking, “So this greenhouse is where you were when Spencer was confronting a psychopath on his own?” Maybe there was too much bite to his tone, but he sincerely wanted an answer.  
Callahan stiffens, and JJ reaches out to put a hand on Derek’s arm, shaking her head minutely, “Derek please…” she let's herself trail off but catches his eye with a meaningful look, silently asking him to rein it in.  
“Derek, we can all talk about it but let’s keep it productive. Accusations and blame won’t get us anywhere.” It is a clear warning from Rossi, but it just serves to fuel Derek’s fire.  
“You don’t want to know Dave?” Derek scoffs, “or maybe you already do? How does the agent least likely to chase a suspect, end up alone in a shed with a psychopath who is hellbent on inflicting maximum damage?”  
Stopping mid stride, Rossi turns to face Derek, sighing deeply. “Not now Morgan. Let’s go do our jobs. It’s all we can do for now.”  
Facing off with Rossi, Derek is keeping his cool, but he is not backing down. Not when he saw what he saw, Spencer in agony, apologizing for letting her get away, Hotch trying to keep him talking so he didn’t just go to sleep…  
“Yes, we should have all been doing our jobs, Dave! All along! So why was he alone? I have a right to know. Be real, man! Back up shouldn’t have been so far behind that she was able to torture him and get away!” His tone is insubordinate, and he knows he’s pushing it, but damn it he needs to know! JJ is at his side, hand squeezing his shoulder, and he knows how hard this is for her. He feels like shit for making it harder, but she needs to know too.  
Rossi looks pained, and he turns his head to the side collecting his thoughts. He knows Derek isn’t wrong, he knows what the kid means to the team and he can’t fault Derek for being upset. He also can’t start pointing fingers and let the team tear each other apart.  
“I can’t give you what you want Derek,” he starts carefully, “I can’t tell you mistakes weren’t made in the heat of the moment. I can tell you no one meant for anything like this to happen, so please, let’s do what we can to make it right. Let’s clear this scene, interrogate Farland, and formulate a plan to find Amelia Porter.”  
As if that will make things right, Derek thinks.  
The two stare each other down for a few tense moments before Derek turns on his heel and keeps walking. The rest of the team fall in behind him, and its JJ who speaks next, “has anyone told Penelope?”  
____________________

In the ambulance, observing the controlled chaos aimed at saving Spencer’s life, Hotch feels completely out of his element. He isn’t in control here, he can only watch and feel obsolete, unable to make an impact on the outcome. That said, he vowed to himself in the shed, waiting for help to come, that he wouldn’t leave Spencer’s side until he was recovered and well enough to tell him to back off.  
Spencer had still been clinging to consciousness as they loaded him into the ambulance, and he had pleaded with Hotch to stay. Hotch had never intended to let him go alone, and the medics took it in stride, even letting him hold Spencer’s hand as they worked around him. They started cutting away clothing to assess the damage, and Hotch sucked in his breath. The wounds were even more shocking, backdropped now by too pale skin, the abdominal wound gaping, knife grotesquely protruding from high up on his thigh, enough blood leaking to stain the sheet under him.  
“Minimal bleeding here” the first medic says, of the abdominal wound, to which his partner responds, “Good. Bleeding is slowing from his neck. I’ve got pressure on it. How is the leg?” and to that, “Weak distal pulse.” They continue back and forth like that, taking and retaking vitals, starting an IV, tossing blood-soaked gauze pads aside.  
Blood continues to seep from under the paramedics gloved hand where he's applying pressure to Spencer’s neck, and Spencer is moaning behind the oxygen mask, even as his eyes are closing. The wound in his neck is large, with ragged edges, it accounts for the worst of the bleeding. One medic, the one holding the neck wound looks to Hotch, “Contusion on the back of his head, was he hit with something? Did he lose consciousness?” 

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there when it happened.” Hotch admits, feeling guilty. He should have been there. It would have changed everything. “Is he going to be ok?” Even as he asks, he knows they can't answer with any degree of certainty.  
The medic gives him a half smile, “We can’t say but he’s strong. Helps when they fight you know?”  
Hotch did know, from personal experience. He has been where Spencer is now, but the memory doesn't make him feel better, the opposite actually. He is still haunted by what Foyet did to him, nearly killing him, leaving him powerless and bleeding, a feeling he wouldn’t wish on anyone. Looking down at Spencer’s hand in his, nails caked in blood, the similarity of the situations isn’t lost on him. Nor was the fact the he set Spencer up for this, unwittingly or not, and now they would all have to live with the outcome.  
____________________

The greenhouse is huge, filled with an array of plant varieties, mostly in small individual plastic pots, though there are saplings in large containers too, probably ready to be shipped to nurseries for sale. Amelia has likely found ways to ship plants through a courier without ever having to see anyone face to face. Perfect for a woman on the run from the law, who needed to keep a low profile. It did beg the question where she got her start up money, how had she been able to pay for the farm in cash though.  
Besides having located a probable source of income, the greenhouse didn’t have a lot to offer in the way of helping with the investigation. The local police would comb through it all more thoroughly, as well as leaving an unmarked car to keep watch in case Amelia returns, but Derek thinks that is highly unlikely. There is a table in the corner that holds a small personal safe left open and empty, so it's possible that Amelia has been here to get whatever was inside, cash maybe, before disappearing. It would have been risky with Callahan out searching, but she knew the property better than them, and there are two doors to the get into the greenhouse, one at either end so she would have been less likely to get trapped.  
They had found no obvious mode or means of escape; the only tire tracks they found belonging to an ATV that was still parked at the far side of the greenhouse. Inside the house had been the same story, the local police had found nothing, no family photos, no keepsakes she’s likely to come back for. Of course, she had left her clothing and toiletries, but a person can buy new clothes, so he doubted she would risk her freedom coming back for those. No, a woman like Amelia who had successfully hidden from the law all those years would have had an exit plan. She would have been ready to run.  
Clearing her throat to get his attention, Derek looks up to find Callahan standing across the table from where he is trying to help identify the plants by taking photos to send to Penelope. He’d had to walk to the road to make his call to the emotional IT tech which had gone as expected; her not bothering to remain professional because it was him, alternating between asking if everyone was okay, and screeching at him about keeping people informed so they don’t start imagining all the horrible things that could happen to FBI agents in the field. He'd had to interrupt her to break the news about Spencer, and that had not gone great, her not listening when he told her she didn’t need to fly out, and him agreeing to pick her up at the airport.  
“How did it go with Penelope?” Callahan inquires, quietly.  
“Exactly how you’d expect,” he returns. “She’s at the airport. Complaining about internet on commercial flights.”  
Callahan smiles, “yes definitely not up to her standards.” Keeping her eyes on the plants between them she adds, “I went after him Derek. There was no sign of them. All I could do was look; the radios weren’t working, I didn’t-“  
“I know the facts Kate.” They had all talked it out when they got here. “But I saw it you know? What she did to him. I’m just not ready to hear how its nobody’s fault ok?”  
She nods slowly, moving off to work with Rossi, and Derek turns back to his plants. 

____________________

Spencer didn’t wake up again in the ambulance, or when they arrived at the hospital, which the paramedics assured him was normal. The team of doctors waiting in the ambulance bay launch into action before the vehicle has even come to a full stop, taking control of the situation with an efficiency that inspired confidence. Hotch would have preferred not to be pushed aside but he knew he had to trust that Spencer was being delivered into capable hands.  
They are transferred to trauma bay 2, amidst a flurry of shouted instructions, the paramedics giving a brief run down on the condition he was found in, and measures taken on route. Another doctor joins the fray, an older man with graying hair, asking “What have we got?”, the answer, “Multiple stab wounds, left side of the neck, left lower quadrant, and right upper thigh, object still embedded, contusion to the back of the head, possible concussion, patient was conscious at the scene… OR 1 is ready when you are… the surgeon on call…need more blood…tell them to hurry…Let’s move!”  
Hotch watches it all, their words blurring together, Spencer looking eerily lifeless throughout, and involuntarily he begins to picture the team without their resident genius. He is an undeniable asset with his high IQ, eidetic memory, sharp attention to detail, and superb Geo profiling skills. More than that though…are his rambling morning monologues, his endless statistics, his earnest, inquisitive nature, shy smile, and late-night visits to Hotch’s office to help with paperwork. Maybe sometimes just to avoid going home to their respective residences alone for a little longer.  
A nurse touches his arm, startling him out of his thoughts. “Sorry,” she says, smiling kindly. “They’re taking him to surgery now, you have to say goodbye here. Are you family?”  
“Yes” he says without hesitation. And no, he would not say goodbye. Spencer was the heart of their team, and they needed him back. It was that simple.  
They stop the stretcher and move aside so he can brush a hand over the young agent’s forehead, and whisper just to him, “I’ll be waiting when you come out of this, I’m not going anywhere. So, make sure you come out, Spencer. That’s an order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We always love comments, they keep us going :)


	5. Hope

## Chapter 5

### Hope

Penelope Garcia enters the Salt Lake City airport’s arrival zone with the same, over the top style, the team has come to expect from their beloved technical analyst. Decked out in a pink plaid kilt, matching hot pink blouse, and a navy blue cardigan, patterned with white kittens, it was easy to see her coming. She is tottering at breakneck speed toward them on very high heels, swinging her extremely large handbag, hair looking a bit disheveled, a wild look in her eyes as she reaches Derek and JJ where they stand waiting.

  
Derek opens his arms expecting his Baby Girl to want to launch herself into them for one of their patented, not entirely work appropriate hugs, and honestly, he is looking forward to a little comfort himself at this point. Things had remained tense at the Appleby location between himself, Kate and Rossi, everyone just trying to do their part without rocking the boat. Spencer’s unknown condition was ever in the back of their minds, and only poor JJ was neutral enough to try and keep the peace. Derek is truly shocked when his arms are slapped away, and he is given a none too gentle shove backwards, accompanied by a savage glare.

  
“What is wrong with you?!” she screeches. “And you JJ! You should know better! Do none of you answer your phones? That’s why you have phones! So, people, people like me,” she gestures to the air in general, swinging her arms erratically, "can contact you and, oh, I don’t know…be reassured that you haven’t been brutally murdered and buried in shallow graves! You are FBI agents in the field, your job is dangerous, one of you has already been stabbed, you answer your phones!” 

  
Heads were now turning all around them, and Derek was taken aback, because Penelope rarely got this mad, and even more rarely at him. Before he could think of anything to say, she was talking again, albeit at a lower tone, having noticed the attention she was getting.

  
“Did you touch the plants? Either one of you. Did you touch them?” She whisper yells, looking frantic.

  
“The plants?” Derek repeats somewhat stupidly.

  
This serves to irritate the irate woman even more. “Yes, Derek the plants! The ones you asked me to identify before falling off the grid and failing to answer any of my many, many calls. The ones you spent the day cataloguing in a stabby psychopath’s greenhouse! Those plants Derek Morgan!”

  
“Did we touch them? Well we were wearing gloves, but we did move them around, we were searching the place baby girl. The cell service out there is pretty shady, so that’s why we didn’t get your calls. The locals were relaying messages through dispatch though, did you call there?” He asks carefully, no desire to enrage her further.

  
Hand on one hip, glaring at him through her purple cats eye glasses, far more intimidating than she ought to be, Penelope replies haughtily “Why yes I did Derek, and then I had to get on my commercial flight, where I had no internet connection and no way to reach you and let you know that ninety plus percent of the plants in that greenhouse are deadly poisonous!” She tosses JJ her cell phone, “Call Rossi and Kate. Are they still at the greenhouse? The local police dispatcher said she would get a message to you, but clearly, I cannot rely on that! Oh, my stars and stripes you all are hard to manage! Call him JJ!”

  
Derek opens his mouth to respond as JJ steps away to make the call but is cut off by Garcia holding up a hand looking entirely unimpressed still. “Do you know what I did on my long flight with no idea of where you all were or how you all were? I’ll tell you!” Derek winces at the shrill tone, “I imagined all the different ways that an agent could be killed in the field! Things like stabbing Derek! Like a certain murderous psychopath veering back and stabbing the rest of you! And that! That’s only if you didn’t brush against a plant so poisonous that one touch would have you convulsing, and frothing at the mouth, before you pass away from a heart attack caused by your body’s inability to handle the agonizing pain!”

  
At that she gasps in a breath, waving a hand in front of her face where her eyes are now tearing up, then launches herself into Derek’s arms, grabbing him in a desperate hug. Derek is instantly overcome with guilt at being so careless with her feelings. He smooths her hair down, and squeezes her tighter, suddenly very grateful she’s there, because all joking aside, she is his person and he needs her right now.

  
She pulls back sooner than he would have liked, regarding him with a look of distaste. “I presume we have a hotel? The two of you need to wash,” pause to look at JJ as she returns the cell phone, “I shouldn’t even be hugging you; you could be covered in poisonous plant juice for all I know! But I’m just so relieved!” The poison comment draws some more looks from around them, as to spite her words she pulls JJ into a bear hug “I’m still mad though! So mad! You will have to make it up to me.”

  
“Oh, I will baby girl, don’t you worry,” Derek smiles, “coffee, breakfast in bed, you name it.”

  
Turning to head toward baggage claim Penelope snaps, “Derek, do not think for a second, I didn’t catch that breakfast in bed thing! Breakfast in bed is not a make up gesture in a hotel that provides room service. You’ll have to do better!” JJ is laughing now as they follow along, Derek just nodding happy to agree, and appease their angry tech.

  
“Oh, and you might wonder why I haven’t inquired about our baby boy, and I will have you know it is not because I’m selfish and got absorbed in my work,” pointed look back at JJ and Derek, “it is that I have already contacted the hospital to get an update, sent food for our intrepid chief, who will not be taking care of himself I’m sure, and ordered flowers to be delivered WHEN…”she pauses for a second, “our lovable genius is out of surgery and able to enjoy them. I also have taken the liberty of procuring a pile of books, also to be delivered asap because he will want to keep busy and distracted. Oh! And I brought him a brand new tablet too, because I intend to teach him to use it while I have him as a captive audience…” she continues on as they follow her, both of them grateful to have her there, because ruffled feathers or not, Garcia is always just what the team needs.

* * *

The sheriff had indeed made his way out to the greenhouse to pass along the messages from Garcia, very shortly after JJ and Morgan headed out to pick her up. They planned to head to the hotel and then the hospital right after, leaving Kate and Rossi to finish up at the farm.

  
Looking at the plants in a new and much more sinister light, Dave and Kate had the greenhouse secured and headed back to the house to see how the processing was going. Garcia had been adamant in her message that they stay away from the plants until she could research some more, and they could all sit down and talk.

  
The sheriff meets them at the door of the house holding a small, black, electronic box with several antennas sticking out of it. “I was just going to see if I could find you” he says, “the guys found this. It’s a cell signal jammer. Likely why you aren’t getting any service on your phones. Might be messing with the radios too. It’s illegal to own, but I imagine our suspect wouldn’t have cared too much about that.”

Rossi took the box turning it over in his hands to have a look. “I wonder why she wanted to do that? I guess it helped her out today.”

  
“Well she wanted to keep off anyone’s radar, I suppose. A lot of this tech stuff is beyond me but I’m sure she didn’t want anyone tracking her. Some nefarious business going on with those plants for one thing I’m sure.”

“Huh. It’s certainly something to consider in the profile.” Rossi says, handing him the box back. “We are going to do a walk around in the house before we head out.”

  
“Course, we will be out here for a bit yet, and then we can hide an unmarked somewhere in case she comes back. Or maybe she had customers come out here?” The sheriff muses.

  
“I doubt it,” Rossi answers. “She likely didn’t let anyone see her face to face if she could help it. She’s back in her hometown so she would have to be careful about being recognized even after all those years.”

  
“Well anyway, I’m heading back to the station. You want first crack at Farland?” he asks.

  
“If you don’t mind, we sure do.” Rossi returns. “Won’t hurt him to stew in custody for a bit though. We’ll be there soon.”

  
They nod to each other and Kate and Dave head into the house. Dave is quiet, contemplating what he should and shouldn’t say. The day hadn’t gone anything like he would have liked or expected, and it wasn’t sitting well with him. He looks to Kate who is gazing off around the living room and dining area that basically make up their scene.

  
“What did happen Kate?” he asks, drawing her attention back to him where he was leaning back against the dining table.

  
“What do you mean?” she responds slowly, looking tired, wary.

  
“You stuck around long after I told you to go after him. The girl was fine, I told you I could handle Farland, why didn’t you go when I said to go?” Rossi was being blunt. He didn’t have time for anything else. They needed to resolve the tension between them.

  
“I did go! He was already out of sight. I could only guess where he headed. I tried to radio him but there was only static. I made a decision which way to go.” She is getting upset now, “Do you think it doesn’t kill me that I chose wrong?”

  
“Well sure, but that isn’t what I mean Kate, and you know it.” Rossi states, keeping her pinned with his eyes, “you were distracted by the girl. Did you think she wasn’t safe at that point? Or did she just remind you of your niece and you forgot yourself?”

  
Her eyes narrow. “I am good at my job, Dave. I don’t let my personal life dictate how I work in the field. The girl was upset, Amelia was unarmed, and I thought Spencer had her! Even when he chased her how was I supposed to know…” trailing off he can see the tears in her eyes. He knows she blames herself as much as Derek is blaming them both. He needs to tread carefully now.

  
“Spencer had profiled in the car that she would be dangerous and volatile. None of us should have underestimated her. But it was an order to follow him, and it was like you didn’t even hear me Kate.” He says it firmly, it’s the truth, all else aside she should have followed orders.

  
“I did Dave! Rebecca was terrified, I let her go and went after him as quick as I could!” She raises her voice a little shrilly. It’s not true and she knows it. Rossi prods a little, trying to get her to admit what she already knows.

  
“You felt for the girl. She was terrified, she listened to them plot to kill her just like they killed her mother. You were empathizing, imagining it was your niece, and you let yourself be distracted. Just to comfort her, but you didn’t even notice Spencer had lost control of our second suspect,” he keeps on her, prodding just a little harder. “You should have noticed Kate.”

“He should have had her Dave!” she snaps, then looks absolutely mortified.

  
Rossi sighs. “Maybe Kate, but he needed you to have his back, to be right behind him. You had your priorities wrong.”

  
She turns her back, maybe because she’s too angry to respond yet, but more likely to hide her tears.

  
“It was seconds, Dave” she whispers, voice rough.

  
“It was longer than you think Kate,” he answers, though she hadn’t asked a question. “It was long enough.”

* * *

Hotch had waited in quite a few nondescript waiting rooms in his life, all of them filled with pastel coloured prints, semi comfortable chairs, and wall mounted tv’s repeating ads on mute. He didn’t need to be one of the FBI’s top profilers to know it was aimed at inducing calm, but it wasn’t working on him. He was passing the time pacing back and forth, consuming terrible coffee, and checking with the nurses on an obsessive schedule to find out if there was any information. He had yet to sit down and his shirt was still stained with blood, but he hardly noticed.

  
It took over three hours, for a resident to come out and update him, which causes more anxiety than it cures. She informs him that Spencer is stable so far, that the abdominal wound missed all major blood vessels and organs. She assures him that for now they have all bleeding under control, and the trauma surgeon is starting the repair on his neck, where the knife nicked his jugular vein, causing some significant damage to surrounding tissue. The vascular specialist will scrub in and take it from there to assess the injury to his thigh, where the knife, according to imaging, is resting against the femoral artery. Hotch thought having some information instead of being totally in the dark would help, but it just gave him more exact cause to worry.

  
After that news he sinks into a chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and placing his head in his hands. Closing his eyes all he can picture is Spencer in that shed, broken and cold. He flashes back to his first thought that this just might be the time that it doesn’t end well, and they have to face up to mistakes that cost someone on the team their life. Pushing himself to his feet again, he shakes off the rather dark thoughts, and heads out to the nurses’ desk to let them know he's going outside to make some calls. He wants them to know where to find him, but he needs to breath and he can’t do it in that waiting room.

  
He tries calling JJ first, then Rossi, Morgan and finally Kate. Everyone’s phone goes to voicemail. It's shortly after 9 by this point and he wonders how they can all be unavailable. It gives him something else to worry about as he dials Garcia, whose phone also goes straight to voicemail. He leaves messages with JJ and Garcia, then tries the local PD. Their dispatcher says she will get a message out to their location, that the sheriff had radioed in to let her know they had no cell service. That at least meant everyone was probably okay. Rubbing a hand over his face he prompts himself to pull it together and get back in there, wishing that he could just give up all pretenses and break down because he just can’t keep conjuring up a happy ending for this day.

* * *

Garcia, having checked her phone first was able to tell them that Hotch left messages with everyone updating them on Reid’s condition. He wasn’t out of surgery yet, but so far so good, was basically the gist.

  
“I just have to keep images of puppies and kittens in my head…puppies and kittens, puppies and kittens, puppies and kittens…” Garcia says from the back seat after trying to call Hotch back, with no luck. “It stops me from thinking about all the awful today. I just need to be positive! It is going to be fine. Better than fine.”

  
JJ smiles sadly, having a hard time staying upbeat herself. They are glad of the energy Penelope brings with her through the good, bad, and ugly. She has an unbreakable spirit that she is only too happy to let them borrow from.

  
“Listen PG, I really am sorry about leaving you hanging. We should have known better.” Derek apologizes again, from his spot in the driver’s seat.

  
Sticking her fingers in her ears, Penelope loudly protests “La la la la la…more kittens playing with balls of yarn, getting themselves all tangled up but they don’t mind because they’re having fun…Derek Morgan, you will not take me back to that dark place, and the terrible things I was forced to consider! Just no!”

  
JJ smirks at Derek “Ya Derek,” she puts in, laughing in spite of herself.

  
Shaking his head Derek says, “so hotel, clean up and then we can get food and coffee on route to the hospital. We need to go see how Hotch is holding up. I’ve never seen him like he was today. Keep trying to call him Mama.”

* * *

Hotch looks up at the clock, 11:34 p.m. when he sees the gray-haired surgeon from the trauma bay, walk in the door, resident in tow. Taking a deep breath, he readies himself for whatever the news is. If it’s good there is still time in this cursed day for at least a neutral ending.

  
The doctor looks down at the clipboard in his hand, glancing around the room before speaking directly to Hotch who stands up to meet him.

  
“You’re Aaron?” he checks.

  
“Yes, I am” he answers, both eager and dreadfully uncertain, he ignores the use of his first name and lack of any title.

  
The doctor offers his hand and Hotch takes it, giving it a brief shake. “Dr. Novak, I’m the trauma surgeon.” Hotch just nods, letting go of his hand and waiting for him to continue.

  
“Ok well most of the news is good under the circumstances. The vascular surgeon, Dr. Kline, is closing right now and then your friend will be moved to the ICU. He is not out of the woods, we will be monitoring him closely for any sign that the graft site in his leg has failed, that the head injury is more serious that we thought, and to be certain that the wound in his abdomen doesn’t cause anymore issue. We sealed a small tear to the vein in his neck and patched him up. His leg was trickier, the knife opened the femoral artery and that required a surgical graft using a vein harvested from lower on his leg. He lost a lot of blood, and had to be transfused several times throughout surgery, but all that said, his vitals are strong now, and he has good shot at recovering from this with no major or permanent deficits. We will know more in the days to come, but you can go in to see him as soon as he’s settled. Dr. Kline will be out to go into more detail as soon as he’s free.”

  
On some level, being FBI and accustomed to listening just as much for the things people don’t say, as the things they do, Hotch knew that this wasn’t all good news, and that it would be a long road from here to ‘ok’, but he would take it. For now, it was the ending that at least left them with hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	6. Toxic

## Chapter 6

### Toxic

Not having truly resolved the issue with their earlier conversation, tension still hung in the air between Rossi and Callahan as they attempted to clear up loose ends at the Appleby farm. After searching all the rooms and belongings at the modest farm house, they still had no leads on where Amelia might have gone, where she had been during her years in hiding, or how exactly she had disappeared today from right under their noses. Everything in the house was remarkably generic, right down to the décor, nothing to even suggest a personal style. There were clothes, shoes, the normal things people need for daily life, but it didn’t tell them much about the woman they were now hunting. She clearly knew a thing or two about how to remain a mystery and her lack of connection to the world or anyone in it was going to make it hard as hell to track her. The only lead so far was a car found in one of the shipping containers, no plates, but they were hopeful it would yield some insight.

By shortly before midnight they were desperately in need of food, and either sleep or coffee, so finished or not, tension or not, Dave decided they needed to call it a night here and join the team at the hospital. Once the signal jamming device had been discovered and removed, they had both gotten the call that Spencer was out of surgery and heading to the ICU, though he was not expected to wake up for some time yet. On the phone Hotch sounded absolutely spent and Rossi was worried about him. He was undoubtedly using his time to reflect on all the ways that what happened today was his fault, taking it all on himself in quiet recrimination.

Heading for the hotel first to clean up quickly, Dave mulled over the issue of how well received he and Kate would be by the rest of the team. He knew that Derek was on edge and looking for someone to blame and that even JJ, ever the diplomat, was having a hard time with this. Her and Spencer were close, and she had to be hurting seeing him taken away in the condition he was in. He wasn’t even sure he could count on Hotch to keep his cool when they started hashing out the whole story.

Kate was subdued beside him in the car, looking out the window as they drove. He knew that Garcia had organized a briefing she wanted to run through, and he was hopeful that it would channel everyone’s energy into something productive. Not to mention that Garcia’s outrageous, upbeat, personality should serve as a balm for everyone’s shredded nerves.

* * *

It was under an hour before a nurse came to get Hotch and show him to the ICU, a world of glassed in rooms, with narrow beds holding patients hooked up to multiple monitors and machines. It was eerily quiet the only prominent sounds being the steady beep of various heart monitors, and the nurses quietly talking at the centrally located station, shuffling charts, and typing on keyboards. Hotch didn’t like hospitals, more than most people, since it brought back anxiety inducing memories of his own experience with the ICU, but still he was grateful that Spencer was here now. The time with him in that shed, feeling helpless, was still fresh in his mind, so as long as Reid was safe, he could cope with his own neurosis.

His first sight of Spencer was shocking, and he must have let his reaction show because the nurse beside him whispers “It’s ok”. His face was sunken, cheekbones more prominent than usual, lips dry and cracking, his eyes, which were closed tight, ringed by dark circles that made him look like he’d been in a fight. He was intubated and the ventilator emitted a soft, almost soothing, whooshing sound. His neck was bandaged, but the other surgical sites were covered by the stark white blanket draped over him, both arms out, and lying limply at his sides.

The nurse speaks gently, clearly used to reintroducing distressed individuals to their battered and bruised loved ones. “He’s been through a lot; it looks bad now but try not to let it overwhelm you. That’s easy to say, of course, but he needs your strength not your pity, so try.”

Hotch drew in a deep breath and held it for long enough to smother the sob that wanted to escape from his throat, then let it out in a slow measured fashion. This wasn’t the first time he thought that it might pay to be someone else; someone who hadn’t worked so hard on developing an unflappable, stoic persona in order to become a leader that others could rely on, because the flip side was being a man who could no longer show any weakness.

Glancing at the nurse who had clearly been doing this job for a long time he asks, “why is he still on the ventilator?” It isn’t what he wanted to say, he wants to beg her to tell him it’s all fine, it’s not scary, and that everyone walks out of here alive and well; but it’s what comes out.

“He has been through a lot of trauma, he is exhausted, so the ventilator is giving him a break to recover his strength. That’s all.” She says firmly, “It can be removed when he wakes up.”

Hotch appreciates her surety, the honest and confident way she speaks. “Can I touch him? Will he know I’m here?” As silly as he feels asking, he genuinely wants to know. Spencer has spent enough of his life alone, taking care of himself when he shouldn’t have had to, so he won’t be alone now, not for a second.

“You can hold his hand, and he can hear you. He’ll know you’re with him.” She answers.

Swallowing hard, he asks “How long until he wakes up?”

“When he’s ready, give him a little time. Waking up here is scary, he will be sore and confused. Just be with him, it’s the best thing you can do for now.” She reaches out to give his forearm a light squeeze and smiles reassuringly. Nodding his thanks, he moves toward the bed, reaching out to run his hand lightly over Spencer’s hair, and down his cheek, then he sits in the provided chair and takes his hand. Spencer’s hand feels warmer now, and he tightens his grip a little, trying to share his strength with the young agent that he has become so fond of. It makes him feel a little like an imposter offering comfort, considering his culpability in the events that put him here, but Hotch puts those feelings aside because they are his own problem, not Spencer’s. Hotch is going to stay here and make sure that everything turns out ok, that Spencer knows how valued he is, and that they are so incredibly sorry this happened.

* * *

Penelope, Derek, and JJ took the surgical waiting room by storm, bringing with them a suitcase of electronics, go bags, pillows and blankets, a teddy bear and flowers, enough food to stave off a famine, and more coffee and soda than it would be healthy to drink. Luckily, no one else was using the room at the time because they would have been edged out by the sheer amount of stuff. Derek was pretty sure that the nurses were off put by their presence, but Penelope was too busy using their FBI status to take over the hospital Wi-Fi to notice, and JJ was so good at working people that an easy truce was made.

Penelope wasn’t entirely able to hide her disappointment at Hotch not being available for immediate hugging, having been allowed in to sit with Reid, but she satisfied herself with covering the small sofa with blankets and pillows and laying out fresh comfortable clothing for when he returned. Derek wasn’t sure there were circumstances under which Hotch was going to willingly don jogging pants and an FBI sweatshirt and curl up in a pile of pink and purple fuzzy cushions, but he didn’t bother to say that. It wouldn’t have been well received since his baby girl was still on edge about them not answering their phones before, and the newly considered possibility that they had come into contact with a toxin that was slow acting and they weren’t showing symptoms yet. She was keeping a close eye on them, so Derek smothered a yawn, lest she think he was succumbing rather than just exhausted.

Fully set up within half an hour, Garcia had commandeered use of the tv, now somehow controlled by her laptop, covered boring chairs with pillows and throw blankets, provided everyone with their tablets, and laid out food on the coffee table in the middle of it all. She had also dubbed the room her “Tactical Command Center”, and though Derek was pretty sure she wasn’t using the term correctly, he again opted to keep his mouth shut. Ordered to change into comfy clothes, Derek was on his way to find a bathroom when he ran into Callahan and Rossi in the hall.

There was a brief moment where Derek internally debated how he felt, and what to say but he quickly decided now was not the time to cause any trouble. They needed to support each other as a team, or so Garcia had told him when they talked earlier, and he was not about to piss her off right now.

“Good timing, Garcia is all set up in the waiting room ready to go. She has your go bags, so I hope you weren’t looking for them. Hotch is in with Reid so we are going to eat, and then if he’s not out we are going to go ahead with briefing and catch him up later.” Smiling and hoping it looked genuine, he went to head past them.

“Thanks Derek,” Rossi returns, subtly stepping in his path to continue the exchange. “Not a lot at the house but the locals found some interesting stuff in the shipping containers so we can share that too.” Smiling warmly, he let Derek pass, and Rossi and Callahan headed on to join the others.

* * *

Less than an hour later, the team minus Reid and Hotch was assembled, fed, and everyone was wearing sweats and seated as comfortably as Penelope could make them. JJ had been allowed back to see Reid briefly, and to ask Hotch if he wanted to join them, an offer he had declined, saying he was staying until Reid woke up. Derek caught the flash of worry that crossed Rossi’s face, but he said nothing just frowning a little. JJ looked paler after going in, but she said the nurse expected Spencer to wake up by morning. Only one person was allowed to stay in the room with him, or Derek was sure they would have lost JJ as well.

Penelope was alternating between adjusting cords, and typing on her laptop, but soon she was ready and calling them all to attention. Hitting a button, a picture of a vaguely familiar looking plant came on the tv, and their tablets as well thanks to her screen sharing program, and suddenly she was deadly serious.

“As you know Derek sent me pictures of many of the plant species that were found in Amelia Porter’s greenhouse. I was able to identify most of them with the help of then internet and some expert assistance. Please refer to your screens, or up here to the tv.”

Clicking her mouse brought up a picture of a leafy green plant with purple flowers and dark coloured berries. “First up is Deadly Nightshade, Atropa belladonna for the sciencey folks, and its leaves, stem, berries and roots all contain Atropine which can paralyze involuntary muscle. Even contact with its leaves can irritate your skin,” pointed look at JJ and Derek. “Historically its berries have been made into a sweet tasting wine used to assassinate targets.”

Derek winced thinking of the time they spent with these plants, assuming she was selling them to nurseries or at the farmers market.

“Ok moving along the next picture on the screen is Water Hemlock, which has been declared the most toxic plant in North America, quite the accomplishment, and used by Natives to poison arrow tips. You can see it looks suspiciously like Queens Anne’s Lace or Wild carrot. It contains cicutoxin, most potent in the roots, and it will cause painful convulsions, cramps, nausea, and death from respiratory paralysis. It goes by other fun names like Child’s Bane and Death of Man, so you get the idea. Not fun, do not play with it.” Shuddering Penelope once again glances up at all of them, likely to ensure they are paying attention and not headed out to “play” in the greenhouse again anytime soon.

“Derek, now we have the one you described in your text as a pretty wild flower, but please don’t pick it for your significant others because it is Oleander, and it contains lethal cardiac glycosides which can increase the force of your heartbeat. Good when used medicinally, lethal in high doses, causing vomiting, diarrhea, erratic pulse, coma, and death. Every part of this plant contains the poison, and cases of honey being poisoned by bees who visited the flowers have been reported, so dangerous to say the least!”

The next picture was a bushy plant with small white flowers, pretty nondescript, not something you would pay much attention to in the woods. “This one is White Snakeroot and it is responsible for killing Abraham Lincoln’s mother by way of something called “milk poisoning”, believe it or not. It contains Tremetol, which is clearly extremely toxic, so much so that drinking milk from a cow that ate the plant is enough to kill you, and you will not die happy.” Penelope shares, shaking her head and clicking to the next image.

“This one that you all thought was a potted sapling is actually a Castor Bean. It is an ornamental plant and native to Africa. Its seeds are used to make Castor oil, but they also contain Ricin, which causes cellular death, and of course, is fatal in the right dose. It takes between 4 and 8 seeds to kill an adult, and the process to turn it into a liquid or powdered poison is not complicated at all.”

Everyone was quiet thinking over the ramifications of this new information. Clearly Amelia had much more sinister intent than making a few bucks selling plants to nurseries. Derek knew nothing about the market for deadly plants, but he was fairly sure Penelope was getting to that.

“I’m going to stop there, but there are at least another 8 varieties of poisonous plant in that greenhouse going from the pictures I was sent. We will need to call in some expert to ensure that they are handled safely from here on out,” another unimpressed look for all of them. “I also delved into why someone would want to grow all this super toxic greenery, and I have some educated guesses. To start there is a medicinal market for some of these plants, but she would have to have a licence to sell them legit for use in the production of prescription medication, so that’s something to look into.” Penelope pointed out, and Derek and everyone else made note of that on their tablet. Continuing Penelope wrinkled her nose in distaste, “There is also a fairly prevalent black market running in hidden chat rooms, and if she is selling there, she could be getting rich. Most poisons are controlled and unavailable to the general public, and even if they are your name would be on a list of purchasers and that would cut into criminal activities. That being so, there are people paying top dollar either for the plants themselves, or the poison that can be made from them. This will be harder to unravel but maybe not impossible and I am working on tracking possible buyers now.” Taking a deep breath, Penelope shut down the computer, taking a seat beside Derek, retrieving her coffee from the table in front of them.

“Ok so the plants might give us some leads, now let’s hear about what Rossi and Callahan found in the shipping containers.” Derek spoke, putting his arm around Penelope and pulling her into his side.

It was Kate who spoke up, putting her tablet in her lap. “Most of the containers were just filled with pots, hose, and other supplies used to farm. One had all the parts to build another greenhouse so it looks like she was going to expand, and maybe she had hired a contractor so we can follow up on that.” She says, Dave joining the conversation there.  
“One of the containers at the very back had a car in it. It was a Honda Accord, no plates, older model, but the local police are tracing it through the VIN number so that may tell us something about her, or at least another alias she lived under. We figure she might have driven the car here from Canada, though we aren’t clear why she held onto it because it looks like it hasn’t been driven for years.” He finishes, eyes sweeping over everyone in the room looking for input.

There is no reason for Derek to be annoyed but he is. The more Rossi and Callahan talk, the worse it gets. It seems they spent their day on tasks the local police could have managed and reported back to them, while he, JJ, Hotch and Garcia spent the time worrying about how to help their injured team member. He was already put out by what he saw as Rossi’s defense of Callahan, so it was no problem to refuel that fire.

“So, you learned what the locals would have anyway?” Derek says, Penelope tensing at his tone, JJ looking up from her tablet ready to keep the peace, which only eggs him on. “No JJ it’s all good” he says removing his arm from Penelope’s shoulders to lean toward her. “Everything is fine, no one is upset, least of all Callahan and Rossi.”

“Derek! Stop!” Penelope says from beside him.

JJ looks angry now for the first time, and says “You want me to angry Derek? Is that it? Well I am!” she was close to shouting, “I’m angry as hell that this happened, that our suspect got away, but I’m not going to take it out on our team!”

“Oh? And why is that JJ? We all take the blame? Well if I had been there it wouldn’t have happened, and I didn’t make the decision to put me somewhere else!” Derek was shouting now, and Rossi stepped in.

“Where would you like us to have been Derek? After all you were so welcoming at the greenhouse. I thought it was best we take a break.” Dave points out.

“You mean back at the location when you decided the rest of us didn’t need to know what happened?” Derek was on his feet now, Penelope jumping up to stand between them.

“Forgive me Rossi, but if this is a team then there should be full disclosure!”

“I would have discussed it, Derek, what I didn’t want was to fight about it!” Rossi shoots back, getting to his feet too.

“No, I think what you don’t want is to consider what you did wrong!” Derek yells.

“Well maybe there’s enough blame to go around, is it Hotch’s fault because he assigned the teams? Is it Garcia’s fault because she couldn’t give us more info? Maybe it’s Reid’s fault because he lost his grip on her in the first place? If one of us is to blame, we all are Derek!”

“Bullshit, Rossi!” Derek shoots back, just as the door to the waiting room opens.

Everyone turned to the door, where Hotch now stood, expression unreadable. Derek deflated a little, Rossi sat back down, and JJ stood up, Penelope was wringing her hands looking distraught over the whole situation.

Hotch surveys them all for a few uncomfortable moments, then looks at Penelope. “Spencer is awake,” he says directly to Garcia, “the doctor just took his breathing tube out and he’s doing well. He asked to see you Garcia.”

Penelope looks from Hotch to Derek, and back again, then grabs her bag and heads out the door. “The nurse will show you where he is” Hotch says, giving her a small smile as she passes.

With Penelope gone, the tension grows until Rossi speaks up. “Aaron, we need to apologize-“, at the same Derek says “Hotch I didn’t-”

They are both cut short when Hotch holds up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I would have thought it could wait. If you don’t think it can, by all means continue,” he says walking over to pick up his go bag where it was left on the floor by the love seat. “But I’m going to change and go back to sit with Spencer.” With that Hotch turns and leaves, JJ storms out right after him, Rossi puts his head in hands silently reproaching himself for losing his cool, and Derek swings around to punch the wall behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. Road to Recovery

## Chapter 7

### Road to Recovery

Hotch must have dozed off, holding Spencer’s hand, and leaning against the bed, the repetitive sounds, and overreaching quiet that was typical of the ICU, too much for someone who hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the last 48. That said, startled awake by Spencer trying to tug his hand out of his grasp, Hotch sat up so quickly that dizziness washed over him, and he had to make an active effort to steady himself. Spencer’s eyes were open and darting wildly around the room, the hand Hotch had released reaching clumsily for the breathing tube and attempting to yank it out. Recovering his senses, Hotch snatched the hand away, holding it in one of his, placing the other on Spencer’s cheek to stop him violently shaking his head back and forth and dislodging the tube that way. He was moaning now, clearly anxious, and Hotch yelled for the nurse, forgetting the call button on the side of the bed.

  
Locking eyes with Spencer, Hotch spoke softly, though he was feeling a little panicked himself, “Everything is ok Spencer. You’re ok. You had surgery and now you’re in the ICU, but everything is fine. Can you try to breathe and calm down for me?”

  
Keeping eye contact with Hotch, Spencer appeared to think it over before nodding a little, wincing as he did. It was then Hotch realized the nurse, same one who had shown him in hours earlier, had arrived at the other side of the bed.

  
“He’s awake. And he’s upset,” Hotch says, unnecessarily.

  
The nurse gives him her same gentle, indulgent smile, then looks down to Spencer, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Hotch. “Yes, and that’s normal, it’s the not best way to wake up, with tubes and wires everywhere,” she says calmly. “I paged for the doctor on call and he is on his way to assess and hopefully take that tube out. Sound good?” She addresses the question to Spencer who doesn’t acknowledge her, keeping his gaze on Hotch.

  
“It sounds great, right Spencer?” He says to the younger agent, taking his hands away now that he seems to have relaxed, but Spencer shakes his head again, his hand latching onto Hotch’s sleeve with surprising strength. “Whoa, I was just going to sit beside the bed. You’re ok,” he says again, which is becoming something of a mantra.

  
Shaking his head again with a look of pure frustration, Spencer’s eyes go to the door, unable to move much, then back to Hotch. If it was anyone else waking up after major surgery, in a hospital, hooked up to IVs he would write them off as not particularly coherent; anyone else, but not Spencer. Spencer’s eidetic memory and ability to process information at lightning speed made him wonder if he knew exactly what was going on and remembered exactly what happened, possibly in minute detail.

  
“Do you remember what happened to you?” Hotch asks.

  
Spencer’s forehead creases and Hotch can tell he is trying to organize his thoughts. Slowly, he nods once.

  
“Ok, well we can talk more about it when the tube is out. I’m just asking you to relax until the doctor comes to remove it. Then you can tell me what’s on your mind?” he phrases it as a question, though there is no real choice. He doesn’t want to be dismissive. It is always, in his experience, a mistake to dismiss Spencer.

  
Spencer looks like he wants to object and is figuring out how when the doctor, Hotch recognizes him as Dr. Kline the one who had come out to talk to him after surgery, breezes into the room. He’s younger than Dr. Novak who first updated Hotch, maybe a few years older than Hotch himself. He’s good looking, with an attitude to match, and Hotch can only hope the attitude comes from a high level of success in his field. Seeing them, Spencer lets go of Hotch’s sleeve and grabs his hand again. Hotch holds it in both of his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  
The nurse follows Dr. Kline in, along with a younger woman in a white coat, that Hotch assumes is a resident. Spencer looks uncomfortable with all the extra people suddenly in the room, and Hotch would love to make them leave, forcibly if necessary, but unfortunately, they need them, so he just gives Spencer’s hand another squeeze.

  
Dr. Kline is looking at the chart the nurse handed him without even acknowledging them yet, then handing the chart back, he looks directly at Hotch. “I’m Dr. Kline,” he says, and Hotch resists the urge to roll his eyes. Clearly the man has forgotten that they met just a few hours ago. Again, he hopes this guy is so good that he doesn’t require a bedside manner. “I came up because I would like to take a look at the surgical sites, make sure everything looks ok and is holding together. Then I can do a quick exam and pull out the breathing tube since I’m here.” He speaks to Hotch, not to Spencer which Hotch finds aggravating, but Spence doesn’t seem to mind.

  
Without waiting for an answer, he dons gloves and starts with the neck wound, pulling back the bandage to look. He shows it to his resident, and they chat back and forth, then move on to the leg wound, essentially forcing Hotch out of the way without asking him to move. This time Hotch is on a good angle to see the wound when they pull back the bandage, and he cringes as the doctor pokes at the surrounding flesh, Spencer’s hand tightening around his. The wound is ugly, bigger than Hotch thought it would be, but stitched neatly and the doctor seems pleased, talking to his resident about grafting and internal stitches.

  
Finally, looking up to talk to Hotch again, he says, “Everything looks good for now, he should stay still as possible, no reason to be moving around. Repairs like these are delicate, keep that in mind.” Hotch nods, and looks down to meet Spencer’s eye, smiling a little, “He will be careful. Thank you.” Hotch answers.

  
Dr. Kline gives him a brisk nod and moves on to using his stethoscope to listen to Spencer’s breathing in several places on his chest, then nods over at the nurse, saying “I can take the tube out now.”

  
Placing a drape over Spencer’s chest, the nurse hooks up a nasal cannula to the oxygen above the bed, raises the head of the bed more, then starts to pull the tape holding the breathing tube in. She is gentle and reassuring, explaining as she goes, and then the doctor is saying, “Ok deep breath in, I know it hurts but you need to keep expanding your lungs all the way. Take another breath in and out, and another, now hold it, I’m going to pull the tube…1, 2, 3” he counts then pulls, and Spencer starts coughing and gasping for air, but the tube is gone. The nurse suctions his mouth, which sets off the coughing and gagging again, then she puts the nasal cannula on and encourages him to breathe normally. Having watched for a few minutes Dr. Kline excuses himself with instructions to page if he’s needed.

  
Spencer looks to Hotch desperately and wanting to help he smooths his hand over Spencer’s messy hair, trying to provide some form of comfort as he struggles. After a few long minutes Spencer is breathing more comfortably and Hotch sits down in the chair without letting go of his hand, which Spencer is now gripping tightly. Hotch likes that the tube is out, it makes Spencer look much less…damaged, and he is content to sit and wait as Spencer closes his eyes, knowing he is gathering his strength to talk.

  
Another nurse brings water with a straw, and Hotch holds it so Spencer, eyes open and focused on Hotch again, can drink. Turning his head to indicate he’s done, he says, voice rough and raspy, “I need to find her Aaron.”

  
That’s all he can get out before he’s coughing again, and Hotch is sighing, wishing not for the first time, that his team could relax their hero complexes occasionally to take care of themselves. “No, the team needs to find her, and we are working on it. Right now, you need to heal.” He says firmly.

  
“No,” Spencer says, equally firm, “You don’t understand. She told me she will go back to killing, Hotch.” He’s back to using my last name now that he’s talking work, Hotch thinks. “She said it will be my fault because I won’t be able to catch her, and it is! I let her get away!”

  
Another coughing fit, and Hotch is tired and getting annoyed now. “You didn’t let her get away, and what she does now is not your fault. The team is going to find her, and when you are able you are going to help us. For now, you are going to rest.” Once again harsher than he wants to be.

  
Spencer looks away, clearly frustrated, then back again more thoughtful. “Have you been here with me the whole time? You were in the shed…Oh” he stops and looks embarrassed. Hotch is not sure why, but he just waits. “I don’t exactly remember all of it. She hit me, and I remember her stabbing me, but not how I got to the hospital,” he trails off looking down at his hand that Hotch is still holding. Suddenly his head jerks up, resulting in a grimace, “My gun! She has my gun!” The emphasis on the statement sends him into another coughing fit, and Hotch offers him another drink.

  
Hotch wasn’t sure of that fact before, but he knew that it hadn’t been found on scene, and it wasn’t on Spencer when he was loaded in the ambulance. “Ok, well that we can deal with,” he answers. It wasn’t a priority. Obviously, they would register it as stolen, but beyond that they could only catch her and recover it. That was the goal.

  
Pulling his hand away from Hotch, Spencer experiments with touching his left arm. “I can’t move my arm” he says, voice cracking. Hotch isn’t sure if it’s a statement or a question. “Not yet. You need time to heal. They haven’t even had time to look into that. You just got out of surgery, Spencer.”

  
“What about my leg?” Spencer asks.

  
“You were stabbed, it damaged the artery and they repaired it in surgery. It went well. I repeat, you need to rest, give everything a chance to heal” Hotch answers honestly.

  
Hotch has rarely seen Spencer get angry, or even irritated, but he was getting there now. Turning on Hotch, voice still rough and strained, he hisses, “So now I stay in a bed, and you tell me to rest, while she gets away and I’m not allowed to help? Is that an order boss? To sit here and do nothing?” Hotch was surprised by the tone, and wished Spencer would rest his voice, but he answers anyway, carefully.

  
“I can hardly stop you from talking to the team, but field work is obviously out.”

  
Turning away again, Spencer whispers, voice tired, “I want to see Penelope. Is she here?”

  
Hotch knew that Spencer, like everyone, loved Garcia and thrived on her crazed energy, but Hotch was pretty certain he knew what this request was about. Still, it couldn’t hurt to let Garcia do her thing, so he nods. “Ill get her and change my clothes. Will you be ok for a minute?” Spencer tenses but then nods, so Hotch stands only to have Spencer clutch at this sleeve again.

  
“Aaron, the pain meds…” he says, looking at the IV. Damn, he misses nothing, Hotch thinks.

  
“I know, but it’s a low dose and the doctor says that its safe. They will take you off as soon as they can and put you on something nonnarcotic.” Hotch is repeating what the doctor told him. He knew Spencer’s addiction needed consideration, but the doctor had told him that without meds the pain would be unbearable.

  
Spencer says nothing, so Hotch heads for the door, only to be stopped by another whispered request “You will come back right?” Hotch nods again, with a small smile “Of course, Spencer.”

* * *

After Derek punched the wall, bruising his knuckles and drawing glares from the nursing staff, Rossi decided to go back to the hotel and Callahan opted to go with him. Derek didn’t care except Rossi had looked him in the eye and said, “Maybe you should go get some sleep too, Derek.” Then turned and left before Derek could shoot back a smart-ass comment, or alternatively work up to apologizing.

  
Derek is pissed that he let his temper get the best of him, he’s pissed that Rossi won’t just be straight with him, he’s even pissed that Kate, JJ and Penelope seem to want to stay neutral in a situation as serious as this. This isn’t a debate over where to order lunch, it’s about the team dynamic and having each other’s backs. Still, he knew he had no right to yell at everyone, and he certainly wasn’t thrilled that he made himself look bad in front of Hotch, who is still unit chief no matter how family like the team gets.

  
Penelope is gone for less than 20 minutes, returning, and saying nothing at first, just taking up residence with him on the loveseat and leaning into his side. Putting his arms around her, he pulls her closer and kisses the top of her head. He’s grateful that she’s there, and that he can count on her to put up with him.

  
“Derek?” she says after a bit.

  
“Yes, baby girl?”

  
“Is it true?” he has no idea what she means. “That it’s my fault? I mean I could have narrowed it down better between Jane and Natasha, I don’t know how, but if I had you could have all gone to one location and it would have been safer- “

  
“Whoa! Stop!” He says, sitting straight up, forcing her to do the same. When he sees her face, and that she’s about to cry, he really does, in that moment, want to kill Rossi. “No way, PG not even close! Don’t say it again and don’t think it either, because I will know if you do, got it? And then I’ll stop bringing you expensive coffee in the mornings.” Holding her by the shoulders he smiles and gives her a little shake when she doesn’t respond.

  
“Yes, but- “she starts, and he instantly puts his finger to her lips.

  
“Penelope Garcia, this is one thousand percent not your fault! Repeat it back to me, now. I want to hear you say it,” he orders, totally serious. “Now PG.”

  
“This is not my fault,” she repeats looking down at her hands in her lap. He pulls her into a tight hug, silently cursing.

  
“This is one thousand percent not my fault, say it” he tells her again, still hugging, then nuzzling her neck until she laughs.

“This is one thousand percent not my fault!” She cries, pushing him away, “and that Derek Morgan is not appropriate behaviour for the workplace.”

  
He almost points out that their workplace should never be a hospital waiting room, but that would be counterproductive. Then he thinks of something, “wait Spencer didn’t say that it was your fault, did he?”

  
“Oh God no!” She tells him, slumping back in her seat. “He isn’t interested in blame. Just in finding Amelia. I said I would help, that’s what he wanted.”

  
Oh, Derek thinks. He has a feeling that Hotch won’t like Reid involving himself in the case just yet, but he keeps it to himself. Garcia usually gets a free pass when Hotch goes off on people for not following orders. Plus, if anyone can find Amelia it’s his baby girl, and they’re going to need her.

  
They go back to leaning on each other, and JJ comes in not long after. He had called her cell when Rossi left, worried after she stormed out, and she said she was out for a walk to clear her head. Derek wonders if she’s just mad about the fight or about Spencer wanting to see Garcia first. She doesn’t say anything, but she smiles, and he smiles back so he’s pretty sure they’re good for now. He believes she wants answers as badly as he does, she is just more subtle in her approach. Penelope invites JJ to sit with them, and won’t take no for an answer, so they end up crammed together on the loveseat meant for two, grateful Spencer is awake, and that just maybe nothing from this awful day will be permanent.

* * *

Having found a washroom in a relatively deserted area one floor down, Hotch tosses his bag, and leans against the sink, focusing on his breathing. This investigation, the past day, has taken its toll, and he is exhausted. Walking in to find the rest of his team bickering like children didn’t help, and he just wants some assurance that everything will be ok. But he’s the unit chief, he is always in control, there isn’t anywhere for him to turn for comfort, so he is just going to have to get on with it.

  
Removing his shirt, he realizes just how much blood is on it, on his undershirt, his skin, and the legs of his pants, where he knelt by Spencer’s nearly lifeless body, thinking that there might be no coming back this time…the team would be forever altered, nothing would ever be the same and it would be his fault.

  
His fault! The team who had become a family to him, were all fighting over who was to blame, when it was him! He gave the orders, he assigned the teams, and whatever happened after was his responsibility; that’s what it meant to be unit chief. He got credit for the cases they solved, but when things went wrong that was on him too.

  
Turning on the taps he began to scrub the blood from his hands and arms, pausing to yank his undershirt over his head, scrubbing harder and harder as his rage brewed, until his skin was raw and he realized that, for the first time since his wife’s death, he was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. Developments

#### Chapter 8

### Developments

  
Returning to Reid’s room, Hotch catches the tail end of his conversation with Garcia, unintentionally, not trying to listen.

“I will do my best and my best is almost always good enough,” Garcia is saying, joking but there’s truth to it.

“Thanks, Penelope. I really do appreciate it.” Spencer says, his voice still rougher than Hotch is used to.

“Anything for our boy wonder,” she tells him, “you work on getting better. We need you.” It's lighthearted but Hotch wouldn’t be surprised if she’s tearing up.

Stepping through the door, he asks “Can I join, or do you two need more time? He smiles at Garcia because honestly, she looks so sad. She wears her heart on her sleeve all the time, so he’s not surprised when she turns to throw her arms around him, squeezing him tight enough to bruise a rib. He was pleased to see Spencer smirk at him from the bed. It really felt wonderful to see anything even akin to a smile on his face. He hugs Penelope back, with a little less force.

“Sorry I had to boss!” She said, pulling back. “You needed a hug after today. Like it or not.”

He winks at her, “I enjoyed it Garcia, just don’t make it a habit.”

Looking pleased she gives them a wave as she heads out the door.

Still standing in the doorway Hotch looks Spencer over, truly amazed that he was aware and talking already. It had been less than 12 hours since…

“Hey,” he says softly, “you should sleep.” He still looks wounded, the pain showing in his face, though he hadn’t mentioned it. “Would you like to see the others first? I’m sure if it’s against the rules my badge will get them in,” he jokes.

Spencer frowns but doesn’t say anything at first. Moving closer Hotch picks up the cup of water. “Do you want a drink?” he asks.

“I don’t want them to come in,” Spencer says almost too quietly for Hotch to hear. He looks up and adds, “I mean not yet. Not now, I just don’t…feel good.” Hotch really doesn’t think that’s what he wanted to say but leaves it alone.

“Even JJ? She would love to see for herself that you’re ok.” He pushes a little, offering the water again. This time Spencer drinks.

“I don’t know. I don’t want her to be sad. So, I guess.” Spencer looks distressed and Hotch doesn’t want that.

“Hey, it’s fine. I’ll tell them. Do you need anything? “Hotch asks.

“I can’t explain it, I’m a grown man, but I don’t want to be in here alone. Everything is… I just really don’t feel that good…” he stops himself, trailing off mid-sentence, keeping his eyes down.

Hotch puts a hand over Spencer’s and leans down to see his face, “I can get the nurse?” he offers, concerned.

“No,” Spencer says, frustrated “it’s not that kind of not good. I don’t like it here and everything just hurts.”

Hotch bites his lip, not sure what Spencer needs, but God he wants to help. “Why don’t you sleep? At least rest.” He reaches up to brush the hair back from Spencer’s face. He feels warm. He makes a mental note to mention it to the nurse.

“Will you…” Spencer trails off again

“Go back to the hotel? No, sorry Reid you’re stuck with me tonight. Now, close your eyes and rest. Everything is going to be ok. You’re going to be ok.” He slid into his chair, leaning back, and hoping like hell his last words were true.

* * *

Relatively early the next morning Rossi and Callahan arrive at the police station to find that the locals had been able to trace the car they found the day before. It belongs to a resident of Canada, Cole Rainville, from Sudbury, Ontario. It seems the car was probably stolen and likely wouldn’t provide much of a lead, but they would follow up anyway. The sheriff already contacted the Ontario Provincial Police who would pick up Rainville to question him.

Turning their attention to what info they could get from Farland, Rossi and Callahan headed to the interrogation room to question him. They were hopeful he could provide some insight, maybe an idea of where Amelia would be headed next, though they really didn’t know how they would be received or how willing Farland would be to help.

Benton didn’t look his best after his night in a holding cell; still dressed in the same clothes he was disheveled, and he looked exhausted, resigned to his fate. He didn’t appear to have a lot of fight left in him which could work in their favor. Or not. They couldn’t offer him much incentive to talk, he had committed 4 murders, shot his nephew, and kidnapped his niece only hours after being released from prison: not an excellent candidate for a deal.

These were the thoughts running through Rossi’s mind as he and Callahan took seats across from Benton.

“How was your night, Benton?” Rossi opens, testing the waters to see how Farland wants to play it.

“Felt just like home,” he smirks, but it seems halfhearted. Still, he leans forward placing his arms on the table.

“Well, I don’t know, you just don’t seem to like the free life,” Rossi replies, flipping through the file in front of him.

“You weren’t even out for 24 hours before you killed 4 people, Benton. Want to tell us why?” Callahan joins in, careful not mention Amelia. They didn’t want to show him how eager they were to talk about her. They needed some lead up.

“Not much point in talking about it,” he says. “I’m done for now. Nothing I say will keep me outta prison. I gotta make my peace with that.”

“There might be, depending on what you can tell us,” Rossi returns. “Did your father attack you? Did you feel like you had to defend yourself?”

Farland laughs. “Right, he did! And that couple, well they came home, found me in their house and just didn’t like that. Scared me real bad!”

Rossi schools his features to give nothing away, but he was disappointed. The kid had shown a small amount of remorse at the scene, seemed to regret what happened with Rebecca, he had dared hope that might carry over into helping them. On the other hand, he had seen the fear of Amelia too, he was sure of it, in the fleeting glances toward her, and the way he startled when she ran. He was sure that's what had happened, so he pressed on.

Playing the game, he continues, “and the lady who stopped to help you after your nephew crashed the car? What did she do to upset you?”

Turning an intense gaze on Rossi, he seemed to be sizing him up. Rossi needed to know what his thinking was. Was it fear of Amelia? Loyalty? Did she have him so brainwashed he would continue to cover for her?

“Tell us what Amelia Porter had to do with all of this Benton.” Callahan goes for it. “How did you know where she was? Why go there? We really just want to understand Benton.”

“Aren’t you going to promise me the moon if I tell all I know?” he laughs. Rossi doesn’t really blame him. He’s got the upper hand in a way, probably for the last time. Figures he wants to enjoy it.

“Sorry, kid can’t really do that. You got yourself in a complicated mess. You certainly aren’t innocent; you’d have to give me something to work with.” Rossi tells him, giving nothing away yet, knowing his only weapon is looking unphased.

Leaning in toward Benton, Rossi lowers his voice to sound conspiratorial, “Benton, I saw you at that house. I know you didn’t want to hurt Rebecca, and I know you’re afraid of Amelia. I just don’t know why, so tell me, while I’m sitting right here willing to listen.”

“Right,” Callahan cuts in, “we want to make sense of this, Benton. Give us the whole story.”

“The whole story? I told it once before, or most of it. I still went to prison for 12 years.” He snaps back, “you didn’t care then, and I doubt you care now. Rebecca is safe, you have someone to blame for the murders, what more do you want? To convict Amelia of a 12-year-old crime I already paid for?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why is that so important?” he wasn’t asking Rossi, he was working it out in his mind.

“I want to see her. Let us talk first, and then I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Hell, I’ll confess to the murders, the kidnapping, right now,” he offers, “but I want to talk to her before I tell you anything about her. About us.” He leans back in his chair, crossing him arms, closing himself off.

“Let me see her,” Benton repeats. “Or do your worst. I’m done talking.”

Sitting back in his chair too, Rossi sighs. Benton wins this round, he thought, and he’s not sure there’s going to be another one.

Fixing his gaze on Benton he says, “I think you know we can’t do that Benton"

Nodding, Benton replies “I figured. You let her get away, and you think I can help you find her?” He asks it like a genuine question, so Rossi provides a genuine answer.

“Yes, we think you’re the only person who knows where she would go. We need your help”

Benton laughs again, uncrossing his arms to lean back in toward them. Tossing a glance at Kate, he focuses back on Rossi. “No one can help you. By now she has a new name and she’s on her way to a new life,” he turns to Kate, “you won’t find her.”

“We will, with or without your help,” Kate responds.

“Good luck,” he says, then smile gone. “You should just be happy no one got hurt this time.”

* * *

Hotch fell asleep in his chair for a surprisingly long stretch of time, waking first when Dr. Kline came in during morning rounds, and again at just after 9 am, feeling stiff and sore. He maybe wasn’t young enough to be sleeping in chairs anymore, he thought. Groaning he pulls himself up to stretch, looking over to Spencer who was still asleep, forehead creased and Hotch wondered if he was in pain or having a bad dream. Telling the nurse where he would be, he snuck to the washroom quickly to splash some water on his face, then went back the room to sit and wait.

Just after 10, JJ comes in bringing coffee, having used her powers of persuasion to temporarily overrule the one visitor at a time policy, which he takes gratefully. Turning her attention to Spencer she smiles sadly, “I’m glad he’s getting some sleep,” she says softly, reaching out to touch his hand. “I really would love to see him awake though. Be able to talk to him.”

Hotch smiles back, looking fondly at Spencer, just glad to see him breathing. “They are going to move him to a step-down room as soon as one is ready, and he’s awake. The doctor was here this morning and he’s a little worried about the amount of pain in his stomach, so they are going to keep a close eye on it. They want to up the pain meds, but he doesn’t want that,” Hotch gives JJ a grim look.

JJ sighs and nods, unable to resist stroking Spencer’s hair, but then she turns to Hotch again, “I’m going to go back out, we have a few leads and we are going to start working on the profile,” she glances down at Spencer, “do you want to come out and join us?”

He shakes his head, “I’m going to stay. He should have someone here when he wakes up. You can start without me and I’ll come out, or you can come in, after he’s settled in his room. You can catch me up then.”

JJ nods, a little surprised by his response. Hotch is nothing if not a workaholic, he takes every case seriously, generally not leaving for home until the last paper is filed, but maybe it’s good that he’s putting so much trust in the team. She smiles and turns to head back out.

* * *

Having struck out for now with Benton, Callahan, and Rossi head to the hospital armed with coffee. There had been no word from Canada about the car's owner yet, but the sheriff promised to call him on his cell as soon as they got news. No one made it back to the hotel, so he figures they’ll find the rest of the team still in Penelope's makeshift tactical command center.

Rossi is surprised to see the waiting room empty, at least of anyone he knows, there is a couple and an elderly man taking up residence in there now.

At the desk he’s informed by the nurse that they are not the only people in the hospital, and their FBI badges do not give them the freedom to cause a commotion in common areas, that the internet speed is not something she controls, and that she isn’t obligated to supply audio video equipment. He’s not sure why it’s him coming under fire, but he assures her that they will try to maintain a lower profile, despite thinking she might want to be a little nicer to the FBI.

He learns that the team, due to creating a nuisance, has been relocated to the boardroom down the hall to the left, and that’s where he and Callahan head to find the team engrossed in something on Garcia's laptop. It’s a large room, with a big oval table, comfy office chairs, and even a leather sofa at the far end under the window. It has its own bathroom, and in one corner a bar fridge and microwave. It’s a great space to work in, so he’s glad they were booted from the waiting room.

“Good Morning everyone,” he greets them, setting down the coffee and donuts.

“Oh, it’s good you’re here and not just because you brought coffee!” Garcia's smiles, waving them over.

“I would love to tell you I have made tons of progress but it’s slow going because I am not sure who or what I’m looking for at this point. I did get in touch with a botany professor from the University here and he has agreed to help us do some identification at the greenhouse, or through pictures if you don’t want him on site. He already identified some of the seedlings as Poppies which are illegal to grow, cause…well Heroin you know, and while the rest of the plants are not illegal to own or to grow, that does not mean there is not a huge and shady market for them!” She is rambling and never takes her eyes off her screen, fully focused on what she’s doing, even if Rossi can’t follow what that is exactly.

“Right now,” she continues, “I am in a private chat room for rare plant enthusiasts that the professor was kind enough to send me an invite to, and I’m just fishing for information to see if anyone knows what your suspect was doing with all those plants and where she would have been selling them…“ she cuts herself off suddenly and turns to look directly at Rossi. “Unless there is something else you need me to do? Oh gosh I should have asked sooner! Did you get anything on the car? I could do a search into that of course but I didn’t even have a plate number to go by and I needed to do something to keep busy…but I’m all set up and at your service! So, tell me what you need!” By the end of her speech she had to pause and catch her breath, so Rossi spoke up fast.

“Penelope what you’re doing is very helpful, I have no doubt you are making good use of your time. We haven’t given you much to work with, I know.” He smiles at her, feeling bad that she’s worrying. “I still hope the plants will lead us somewhere so you’re on the right track.”

“We got some info on the car this morning. It’s from Canada so the local police there were going to question the owner, but maybe you could run his name and see if you find anything of interest?” Callahan suggest, and Rossi nods.

“Also, the Appleby farm was left vacant for a number of years after the former owner died, up until it was bought by Jane Appleby, so if you could find out how the sale went through that could help.” Dave adds.

“Absolutely! Ask and ye shall receive any information I can obtain, while straddling the legality line, and that’s a lot because I am good at what I do!” Garcia responds eagerly and Rossi is beginning to think she does not need any more coffee.

With Callahan and Garcia occupied, Dave motioned Derek and JJ over to fill them in on the conversation with Benton Farland.

“We got nothing from Farland that we can use yet. It might be worth taking another run at when he’s had time to stew but I’m not overly optimistic. I don’t think he knows anything.” Dave is treading carefully, watching Derek’s reaction closely, knowing he might just be opening the door to more discussion about what went wrong yesterday.

“He doesn’t have any idea where she went or how she got away?” JJ asks, looking tired and frustrated. “Not even a clue? Does he even know how she did it? How she slipped out of there completely unseen?”

“I honestly don’t think so.” Dave shrugs. “He didn’t seem surprised that she got away from us though. He’s confident that we will never find her now.” Dave doesn’t want a fight and he can see how tense Derek is, as they skirt around the topic of Amelia’s escape.

“Ok so what was his involvement with her? They had no contact on record since he’s been in prison and yet, he still knew where to find her. We couldn’t even figure that out.” Derek says, standing with his arms crossed, looking agitated.

“Well we didn’t have a lot to work with,” JJ put in, clearly not liking the renewed tension.

“No, we didn’t” Derek acquiesces, though his concern is with JJ’s feelings, Dave is under no illusion that he is letting anything go.

“The locals say the farm was owned by an Alec Smythe and when he died it reverted to the government and was held up for years while they looked for relatives with a claim. It was empty for over 10 years, then suddenly sold to Jane Appleby. Garcia is looking into that and the car’s owner,” Rossi offers. It was new info from this morning. “It may be a place they knew about or had visited before? That would explain why Benton headed there?”

“We need to get a profile together. We’re wasting time,” Derek says, and he looks anxious. “None of the roadblocks turned up anything?”

Dave shook his head, “Not so far.”

“No, and the longer we wait the farther away she gets.” Derek replies, “I’m going to get some air. Call my cell if there’s any word about Spencer. Or the case,” he adds wryly, over his shoulder as he heads out the door.

* * *

Outside the hospital, Derek felt like he was breathing for the first time in a long time. Everyone seemed to be dragging their feet, they were getting nowhere, and all he could think about was Amelia getting away. He didn’t voice his frustrations inside for fear of upsetting Penelope, who was already sensitive and a little stressed about the lack of progress on her end. It wasn’t her fault; the team weren’t out looking for answers.

As much as he wanted to make sure Spencer was ok, he just felt better when he was active in the field. He didn’t trust the local cops not to have missed anything at the farm, he couldn’t be sure they were screening effectively at the roadblocks, it was all making him feel anxious and unproductive, while giving him entirely too much time to focus on the memory of Spencer’s broken body in that shed…

Rossi seemed to think he had it all under control, but Derek wasn’t sure he was asking the right questions. It sounded like the interview with Farland could have gone better and he wasn’t sure why he and JJ weren’t given the opportunity to participate. They usually traded off to get the most out of their suspects, but in this case, Rossi was calling all the shots, and he had decided unilaterally that he and Kate had done all they could do.

With all that in mind, he pulled out his phone to remind Garcia to text if he was needed, then headed out to walk off some of his more unpleasant feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CC here, sorry about the wait for the next chapter, we had been aiming to have it up Sunday and it should have been up yesterday (Monday) at the latest, my bad! TC was totally ready and raring to go on this chapter and then I had a small personal tragedy. My namesake, the actual Callie cat, passed away on Sunday and I was kind of out of sorts... But! Have no fear, TC persevered and I am back and now you get not 1, but 2 chapters in one day! You may even get a 3rd, if I can convince TC to put off work for a day... 
> 
> They'll be posted within the next couple of hours, we're just finishing up writing and editing.
> 
> As always, please comment and kudos to keep us going!
> 
> There's much more to come so be sure to subscribe to get notified when we post a new chapter! 
> 
> ~CC~


	9. Profile

#### Chapter 9

### Profile

Spencer had woken up, been visited by Dr. Novak again, then moved to a private room in the step-down unit on the surgical floor, all within the last half hour. For lack of a better word Hotch would say that Spencer was plain grouchy, snapping statistics about the inaccuracy of the vitals they were taking, refusing any offer of clear liquids saying it was insulting since he was hooked up to IV for both nourishment and hydration, and that continuing to offer him a cup and straw was equivalent to offering a pacifier to a baby. It was unlike Reid on one hand, and exactly like him on the other. He comforted himself with facts, and he was doing that now, but he would usually be more civil about it.

After the nurse, Luke, had left Spencer continued to glare down at the fresh blanket covering him, saying nothing at all to Hotch. Picking up the cup of apple juice the nurse had left, Hotch held it up to Spencer’s lips and he lifted his head to drink.

Pulling away after a few swallows he fixes his glare on Hotch, “I’m not a child. I can drink water. I could even hold the cup.”

“Well you should have told the nurse that before you chased him away with your facts on the prevalence of male nurses throughout history,” Hotch tells him, keeping his tone conversational. “I’m sure he would have been happier to bring it before you told him that men are not natural nurturers, and that that’s why doctor is usually a more appealing career for males who have the grades, though.”

Glare fading, Spencer crosses his right arm over his chest. “I don’t even know if that’s true so I shouldn’t have said it. I don’t have any actual statistics.” He admits.

Hotch takes a deep breath to keep from laughing. “I’m not certain that’s the only reason you shouldn’t have said it.” He returns. Coming to Spencer’s left side he adjusts his arm to rest on top of the blanket and asks before pushing the button to raise the bed to a better, more upright position.

“I don’t need them in here. I just need a bit of time and I’ll be fine.” Spencer says confidently.

“Absolutely, I agree.” Hotch tells him, straightening the blanket as he walks around the bed. “All the more reason to let them do what they need to quickly and get out. Now!” he actually claps his hands together to cut off another speech from Spencer, “If you don’t want to sleep, let’s have the team come in. They have been waiting all night to see you.”

Spencer’s face goes through a range of expressions, but then softens. “Ok that sounds good.” He says softly.

“Is it ok if I go get them? Or would you like me to see if one of the nurses who hasn’t met you would do us the favor?” Hotch jokes, and this time Spencer huffs a laugh.

“Can you send someone?” Spencer asks, not meeting Hotch’s eye.

“I sure can,” Hotch says, and with that accomplished, he’s able to stretch out in the comfortable reclining armchair that the room came equipped with. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t still concerned about Spencer’s recovery, and he didn’t like the way he was trying to cover grimaces and grunts of pain as he shifted on the bed, but it was gratifying to have him awake and talking. He hoped the attitude was temporary and wouldn’t be detrimental when it came to all the therapy he was likely to need to endure in order to get some semblance of normal back, but if it was his way of coping for now, Hotch could live with it.

Hotch had only been enjoying the chair for a few scant minutes when JJ arrived, closely followed by Penelope, Rossi, and Callahan. Penelope squealed as she and JJ took up residence standing on either side of the bed. Dave came to stand beside Hotch and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, Hotch looking up to smile at him. Kate settled in one of the chairs that sat over beside the door, and stayed quiet, waiting her turn to dote on the very embarrassed Spencer.

“Spencer, you cannot imagine how glad I am to see you,” JJ tells him, leaning over carefully to kiss his cheek. He accepts it, using his working hand to hold hers, he even leans into her for a moment that could easily have been missed. Any fool can see she is holding back tears, but no one in the room mentions it.

“I have been working hard for you,” Penelope whispers, but it’s not a large enough room that they all can’t hear. “I have found a few possibilities. You have the best analyst in the world on retainer, so you can expect more news soon.”

Spencer smiles at that, and lets Garcia kiss him on the forehead, before looking around and asking, “Where’s Morgan?”

“He went to get some fresh air, but I texted him and he’s on his way back now.” JJ answers him, while gently untangling his mop of hair with her fingers. Brows drawing together, Spencer seems ready to say something but must think better of it.

“Tell me about the case,” he says, darting a look at Hotch. “Any leads? Where are we on a new profile for Amelia?” His eyes go back to Hotch, waiting to see if he will object to him involving himself. Hotch ignores it, not entirely happy about Spencer wanting to work in his condition, but it might be good for him to have a focus. Spencer’s brain was never idle, might as well give it something to do. Plus, Hotch is no fool. He had no doubt that Spencer was going to turn the conversation to the case as soon as the team was available to him.

Everyone turned to look at Hotch, and he nods, “Go ahead. Fill us in on where we stand.”

“I’ll start with the basics” Rossi speaks first, “catch you up while we wait for Derek to join us. But first, it’s really good to see you sitting up and talking kid.” The last is directed to Spencer of course, who smiles back.

Dave gives a brief, but thorough, run down on the greenhouse, the car, other findings on the property. Derek came in toward the end, heading over to the bed, Penelope moving aside to make room, as he leans over to whisper something in Spencer’s ear, eliciting a huge smile. He then reaches over to give Spencer’s good shoulder a pat, before moving over to perch on the window ledge.

Hotch did not miss the look that Morgan gave Rossi on his way by, but he was distracted by a smothered moan from Spencer as he attempted to shift again on the bed. Hotch swore he was looking paler than earlier, and more pained.

“So, local police have turned up nothing at the roadblocks, but Amelia’s picture has been handed out at the borders too. The unmarked car hasn’t seen any trace of activity at the farm, but they will keep on it. OPP in Canada have picked up the owner of the Honda found in the shipping container and will let us know how questioning goes shortly. It was never reported stolen so there might be something there.” Callahan lists.

Hotch could see Morgan’s intense gaze move from Dave to Kate as she spoke, and he knew they all needed to talk. There was tension, he was thinking back to the waiting room after Spencer woke up, and they needed to clear the air. He suspects Dave is holding something back until Hotch is available to play unit chief and mediator, and Morgan is likely objecting to the feeling of being kept in the dark.

“I have been identifying the plants with the help of a local botany professor. Besides the poppies, none of the plants are illegal to own, which is odd since they will all kill you in any number of horrific ways,” Garcia shudders at her own words. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a very lucrative market for them. Some, like Deadly Nightshade, are nearly impossible to grow, and it appears your suspect is extremely adept at it. I am hoping to track down buyers in the chat rooms, or the local gardening community who may have dealt with her.”

Spencer gives her a look that Hotch catches and isn’t sure what he wants Penelope to keep quiet about, but he will investigate that later. Spencer looks worn out, but he’s hanging in there, and Hotch doesn’t want to call attention to it.

“I also looked into one Cole Rainville, major soap opera star level hunk with a name to match." She looks dreamy for a second and Derek rolls his eyes. "No match for my Adonis over here, of course," she winks at Derek and it’s now the teams turn to roll their eyes. "He is also owner of the now infamous Honda Accord found at the Appleby farm. He owns a gym and works as a personal trainer in Sudbury, Ontario Canada. He has competed and still competes in a wide range of martial arts competitions all over the US and Canada. This guy is built, if his pictures online are anything to go by and,” she gives a nervous glance toward Spencer before deciding to finish the sentence, “he is a very skilled knife fighter. It’s apparently a very popular sport.”

It leaves Hotch exploring the possibilities in his mind, given that the car was never reported stolen, and Amelia hung onto it all these years. He bets there is more to the story than a car theft.

“What about the farm?” Derek asks from his spot by the window, “you were looking into that when I headed out, baby doll.”

“Oh yes!” Penelope exclaims, “the farm sat vacant for years after the owner, Alec Smythe, died with no will and no known relatives. In fact, his body remained undiscovered for nearly 2 weeks until a friend came looking for him. The property was then held up in probate court for years, while the legal obligation to search for heirs was conducted. I honestly think that the property was just forgotten in a legal shuffle for around 10 years from what I can trace, and then finally reverted to the government who seemed to be in no hurry to sell it. From there it looks like it never was listed, but rather sold in a private cash deal, to one Jane Appleby, who took possession in 2009, nearly 12 years after the original owner’s death.”

Hotch admires Garcia for her tenacity and skill, and now is no exception. It’s information they can work with, lots of leads to track down. There had to be lawyers involved in the sale, who had contact with Amelia, and he was very curious as to what the story was with Cole Rainville from Canada. As a team they continue to discuss who will follow up on what, until Spencer interrupts.

“We haven’t even touched on a profile for her.” He says, “A new one. We never had a definitive one in the first place. I think that needs to be a priority.” He states firmly, with another look to Hotch.

Hotch agrees but he isn’t sure about Spencer’s ability to participate right now. It will mean rehashing details of his attack, that to be fair, Spencer likely recalls vividly, so was it better or worse to get it out in the open? He concludes that he needs to follow Spencer’s lead, since he has been reminded multiple times today that the younger agent, is not in fact a child.

JJ has a file with her that she now opens to review “Well Spencer alerted us on the way to the locations originally, that it was likely Benton that was the submissive and Amelia the dominant,” she says, “so let’s start there.”

“Let’s go over what we know,” Derek suggests, “we know she started a relationship with an underage boy, so that doesn’t bode well for her moral code to begin with. Then she helped him kill, or maybe coercered him to kill, his own sister? She may have played on his feelings of abandonment by the sister, but what did she get out of the murder?”

“Being in it together may have been her way of keeping him loyal,” Hotch replies, his eyes on Spencer about to bring the agents own attack at the hands of Amelia up for discussion. “Coupled with her attack on Spencer, I think it’s safe to say she’s a sadist who enjoys the suffering of others. Either at her hands, or someone else’s.”

Also eyeing Spencer carefully Rossi asks, “Was attacking Spencer just a means to an end though? Get rid of him so she could get away? Was it an act of sadism or just desperation?”

“It wasn’t desperation,” Spencer speaks up, blinking rapidly like he might be holding back tears, though Hotch couldn’t be sure. “It wasn’t.” He repeats more forcefully. “She was waiting for me, she knew what she was doing, she took her time. She attacked me because she wanted to, not because she had to, it was to send a message.” He trails off, keeping his head down, and drawing his breath in audibly. Everyone in the room stays silent, waiting.

Finally, he looks up, swallowing hard. “I would definitely call that sadistic.” He states.

Quiet, and then it’s Callahan asking. “And what was the message?”

“She wants me to know that she’s smart. That she has resources we haven’t considered yet. She told me she spent the last 12 years honing her skills. She’s strong, resourceful and she said that we have no idea what she’s capable of.” Spencer confides, “and I believe her. I don’t think it was luck that she was able to stay hidden all that time.”

“Farland said the same,” Callahan says, “that we have no idea what she’s capable of. He also said that she will have a new name and new life by now.”

“Did Farland give you any idea why he thinks that? What does he know that we don’t?” Morgan asks.

“He wasn’t very forthcoming,” Rossi admits. “Hard to offer him a deal. We have nothing he wants; he’s confessing to the murders and he’s already accepted his fate.”

Morgan says nothing but he’s not happy with the response, it doesn’t take a profiler to see there’s something going on between him and Dave, Hotch thinks.

“Did she say anything else Spencer?” It’s JJ asking now, though she looks like she regrets the need to.

He thinks about it, cataloging his thoughts in a way unique to Spencer, though Hotch was wondering if he was deciding what to share and what not to as well.

“She knew I was a genius. Specifically, she said I’d forgotten I wasn’t the only genius in the world. I don’t know how she would know that.” He says, his concern showing as he remembers.

“Anything else?” JJ prompts, reaching out to take Spencer’s hand again.

“She said she’s much more dangerous than I deduced, and I believe her. She had full control of the situation, she never looked panicked, not even when we heard you guys pulling up.” Spencer is back to looking down, his hair effectively hiding his face. Hotch worries that the pain is getting to him as much as the words and gets up to move to the side of the bed, Penelope moving to the window ledge by Morgan to make room.

Closer now Hotch can see that Spencer is sweaty, and he would swear he’s getting paler by the minute. Putting a hand on his uninjured leg, he attempts to offer comfort without embarrassing the younger agent. Looking up to meet Hotch’s eyes, he says slowly, “She never meant to kill me. She meant for me to chase her. To wonder everyday what she’s doing and who she’s hurting. She might stay hidden, but she wants something now.”

They all took a minute to mull this over, and undoubtedly everyone was thinking about what Spencer went through and wishing it had been different.

“So, she is a sociopath, possibly a narcissist, and definitely a sadist,” Derek summarizes, and Hotch was grateful for the distraction.

Keeping an eye on Spencer, Hotch replies, “She stayed hidden a long time so what was she up to? If she is a sociopathic sadist, she wouldn’t be able to resist her urges for 12 years.”

“No and would a narcissist be able to go so long without credit?” JJ questions.

Hotch is beginning to realize what a mystery Amelia Porter really is, and he thinks it’s time Garcia fesses up to what she was working on for Spencer, and more importantly what she found.

“Garcia?” he asks, “anything to add? Has Amelia been dormant for 12 years?”

Garcia looks from Spencer, to Hotch and back again apologetically. “No, I am pretty certain she hasn’t, but I need more time. It’s hard to be sure knowing so little about her and having almost nothing concrete to go on. I didn’t want to share until I knew.”

Considering that its nearly 3 in the afternoon, and he’s growing increasingly concerned that Spencer is clutching his stomach, while radiating heat, Hotch makes a call.

“You guys all go get lunch,” he starts, holding up a hand to stave off any objections, “that’s an order. Get fed, change, whatever you need, and we can continue in a few hours. “Garcia,” he looks her directly in the eye, “that means you too. Off the computer for a while. Take a break.”

Gathering around, they all say goodbye to Spencer, Hotch moving over to Rossi as they do. “Stay back so I can talk to you outside,” he says, keeping his voice low. Dave nods, heading out the door behind everyone else.

Turning to Spencer, he says, “is it ok if I go out to talk to Dave? It will just be a minute and I will be right outside.”

Spencer’s brow creases, but he nods his agreement, settling back and trying to get comfortable, wincing as he does.

Hotch is anxious to get a doctor to examine Spencer again so he waves down a nurse as he steps into the hall, asking her to page someone. Then he turns to Dave.

Their discussion is short, but long enough for Hotch to understand what is going on with Morgan, and to silently disapprove of how things went down at the farm. He isn’t even sure he approves of how Dave is handling things now, between himself, Kate, and the team, but for now he needs to trust him. This is his mentor, he tells himself, with decades of experience he should know what he’s doing. As unit chief though, knowing his team for longer than Dave has been a part of it, Hotch can’t help but worry that they are heading for a fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! One day, 2 chapters and we're working on a 3rd, no guarantees it will be up today though. 
> 
> We love all of your comments, please keep them coming!
> 
> Lots to come, be sure to subscribe to get notified when we update! 
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> ~CC~


	10. Setbacks

#### Chapter 10

### Setbacks

Alone in the hospital bed for a few minutes, every part of him aching, the only thing Spencer is able to focus on is the sound of Amelia’s laughter as she plunged her knife up under his vest, whispering that it’s too bad they got it all wrong. Wrong. Amelia wasn’t shy, and she didn’t lack confidence, she lacked conscience. A sociopath, looking for a partner, she turned a young boy into a lackey, an accomplice, so confused by his feelings that he would spend over a decade in prison for her crimes, and return to her as soon as he was released. Every bit the femme fatale, hell bent on a path of destruction she cleverly orchestrated, Reid could not get his mind off the other victims that must be out there from the past 12 years, and the future ones who would fall prey to her desire for suffering if they couldn’t stop her.

He knew Hotch would tell him to stop worrying. It would come as a gentle order, maybe with a hand brushed lightly across his forehead, and a look that said a thousand things that all his genius didn’t help him understand, but still an order. It will affect his recovery, Hotch would claim, and the team needs him, but Spencer can’t let it go; he has a memory that is incapable of forgetting after all. Her voice in his ear, her melodic laugh, so sure of herself and her escape, because he had misjudged her, all of it on repeat in his head.

Stuck as he is, barely able to move, his mind taunts him with thoughts of her, of the attack, and her subsequent escape. It makes him moan as he shifts, and searing pain shoots through his whole battered body. Or was it the pain that made him moan and her voice causing the nausea that is washing over him in waves, steadily growing in intensity? He is so warm and from far away he hears a voice asking if he is ok…well why would he be? He’s sweating and no one is opening a window or taking off even one of the hundreds of blankets he must have on. He would do it himself, but he can’t seem to make his limbs move. He tries to answer the voice, because somewhere in the back of his mind he knows it’s Aaron and he wants Aaron to stay with him. He knows everything will be ok if Aaron will just stay, but he sounds a million miles away. Then suddenly, there are hands on him, pressing him back into the bed, pulling him back when he tries to roll away. He doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening anymore, his head feels suddenly fuzzy and his only semi rational thought is that he needs Hotch, and maybe some ice, before everything goes dark.

* * *

Coming back into Spencer’s room after his hurried conversation with Dave, Hotch finds Spencer writhing in pain, and he bolts to his side stupidly asking, “Are you ok?”, then ducks his head back out the door to yell for help. In no time there are nurses surrounding the bed, pulling back blankets, yanking the gown out of the way to reveal the large incision running straight down the middle of Spencer’s stomach, one nurse prodding as he whimpers, and he cries out as another one presses down and then releases pressure on his lower abdomen.

The doctor rushes in shortly after that, taking over examining the wound and incision, checking all the IV’s, and practically shouting questions at the nurses. “What was his temp last check?” One of them responds and he is clearly not happy with the answer. “B/P is elevated?” Another nurse nods, reading out a number, and then they are trying to hold Spencer down as he tries to roll away, one of the nurses talking to him and asking him to stay calm.

“He was responsive before this?” The doctor was asking Hotch, who nods.

“Yes! He was awake and talking to us.” Hotch hurriedly answers.

Then Spencer is vomiting and the doctor turns to help the nurses roll him carefully, a difficult task in light of all of his injuries. When it stops the doctor starts feeling around his abdomen again, asking the nurse “Did you check for rebound tenderness?” And Spencer is screaming as the doctor takes his hands away.

“Call down and have them get an OR ready for an emergency laparotomy, page Dr. Kline, and let’s move now! I’ll scrub and he can join us, let’s go!” The nurses are hurrying to unhook wires, pulling IV bags down and placing them on the bed, and then they are heading for the door, Hotch stepping out of the way.

The doctor hangs back to address him with a kind expression, “I can’t say for sure, but he has all the signs and symptoms of peritonitis, an infection from the abdominal wound. It’s possible the knife hit something, and it was missed in the first surgery. It’s definitely serious, but I believe that we caught it early enough that he has a good chance. We will know more when we open him back up and locate the cause. Someone will come out to update you soon.” With that he’s gone and Hotch is left to run his hands back through his hair, pulling hard as he bites his lip to hold back a scream.

* * *

“What did Hotch have to say?” Derek asks, when Rossi joins them in the board room not long after leaving Reid’s room.

“Just wanted a run down on what happened at the house with Amelia and Benton before the arrest,” Rossi tells him, trying to keep it vague, not because Derek shouldn’t know, but because Rossi thought in his current mindset he was just looking for a fight.

“What did you tell him? It is the 64,000 dollar question that I think we would all like answered” Derek gestures around the room at the others, “or does only Hotch get to know why Spencer is lying in a hospital bed, while Amelia Porter starts a new life?” Derek presses on, “you have an awful lot of private talks for a team player Rossi.”

His tone is nothing if not confrontational, and Rossi wonders if he should just take the bait and let the confrontation play out, and hopefully resolve quickly. Before he can decide Callahan stands up.

“You’ve been making half assed accusations since we found Spencer, and I’m sick to death of it! Say what you mean Derek and say it to me because it’s me you’re accusing!” Kate is rising to the challenge, and the decision to fight or deflect is taken out of Rossi’s hands. He sighs.

“Ok Kate,” Derek turns to face her, “what I mean is that you weren’t part of the ‘we’ who found Spencer! Hotch and I found Spencer, and what I want to know is why? Why was he alone and where the hell were you?!”

“That’s bull shit Derek!” Kate throws at him, “I was looking for him just like you, but I had no idea where they went, I had to go with my gut. I was wrong, but I didn’t do this to Spencer, Amelia did, and this isn’t about that anyway! It’s about your pumped-up sense of macho pride and the fact that you weren’t there to play hero!”

Derek is livid now, and Penelope grabs him, visibly shaken, begging him to stop. Shaking her off he shouts, “You think this is about playing hero?” Bringing his fist down hard on the table between him and Callahan, he continues, “What we do isn’t a game, Callahan! I’m aware of that, but there are rules and the rules say we have each other’s backs! So why didn’t you know where they went? Why weren’t you right behind them? How the hell did you let them get away?”

Kate, close to tears, turns away, JJ stepping up beside her, while Dave draws Derek’s attention. “Stop attacking her, it isn’t going to change anything, and you don’t have all the facts Morgan!”

“No, I sure as hell don’t!” Derek yells back, “But you do, so go ahead and tell us! Tell us the truth Rossi! What the hell happened in that house? That’s all I want to know!”

“What the hell is going on?” Everyone’s heads swivel in unison to see Hotch standing in the doorway, looking slightly worse for wear. Arms crossed, he’s watching them, gaze calculating. Hotch knew the tension had been there, he had felt it, particularly between Dave, Kate, and Derek, which is why he had stopped Rossi in the hall to get the full story. Still, it was shocking to walk in and see the team so at odds, at a time when they truly needed each other. When he needed them.

“Garcia,” he says after a split-second pause, “why don’t you go and get lunch for everyone? I’d appreciate it,” he gentles his expression when he looks at her. Garcia looks to Derek, stepping toward him, and his face softens when their eyes meet. Embracing her, no one else can hear what he says, but she nods pulling away and taking the car keys he hands her, she gathers her purse and slides past Hotch out the door.

With her gone, Hotch turns his attention back to the rest of the team, fully entering the room, and closing the door behind him. All eyes are on him, and he opts to stay standing, unsure where this discussion is going to take them, and really wishing they could have put it off.

“I asked a question,” Hotch says, standing at the head of the large table, staring each team member down one at a time, waiting for someone to speak up.

“I was just asking Rossi to tell us what happened at the house, Amelia’s house, before we got there to find one agent missing and the other two clueless as to where he went.” Derek is first to find his voice.

“Yes, and as I have already told Derek, I’m more than willing to discuss it” Rossi responds, “without resorting to yelling and accusations.”

“Is it that you just can’t admit that someone made a mistake?” Derek retorts, “because if everybody did their job then Spencer wouldn’t be in a hospital bed right now, and we wouldn’t be grasping at narrow leads to track down a dangerous sociopath before she gets a chance to do more damage!”

Hotch knew that Derek ran hot, and that he thrived on action, and was frustrated when cases failed to progress as expected, but this ran deeper than that. Derek thought things would have been different if he had been there, even if all that meant was him in Spencer’s place. Hotch knew that Derek would prefer that to the helplessness he felt now; Hotch knew, because he felt the same.

“Just come out and say it, Derek,” Kate interjects, “you keep skirting around actually pointing your finger at someone, but you blame me. You think that I didn’t follow fast enough, that I should have found him, found them, in time. It’s me you blame, so why don’t you just say it?”

Hotch has no chance to say anything before Derek is shouting again. “Ya Kate you’re right, I think you screwed up! I don’t know what held you up, but I wouldn’t be standing still while my partner ran off to chase a suspect alone!”

“Not fair Derek!” Kate shouts back, “I did my best! She was an unarmed suspect, and Reid should have had her. If he had done his job – “

“Whoa!” Now JJ is on her feet again and cutting Kate off, losing some of the diplomacy she’s known for. “You all battle it out if you want to but there is no way I am letting anyone put the blame on Spencer.” She is adamant, looking from Kate to Hotch, waiting for Hotch to take control.

“This is what I wanted to avoid,” Rossi says, “this is only going to drive a wedge between us at a time when we need each other. Let’s sit and talk, we are all adults. There is no reason for this to get out of control.”

“No Dave, you don’t get to do that!” Kate turns on him now, “you know what happened in the house so don’t clam up now and pretend you don’t have an opinion.”  
Frowning Rossi considers his position. He was uncertain what he wanted to reveal, what would have a therapeutic affect and what would just lead to more discord. He glanced at Hotch, but he couldn’t read any emotion in expression. He looked exhausted and Dave was worried about him taking all of this on himself.

“Ok Kate,” Dave says slowly, “in my opinion you let yourself get distracted, you identified more than was professional with the girl, and I had to tell you twice to go after Reid. It cost precious time, and I don’t know if it would have made a difference, maybe she simply would have hurt you too. I don’t know, and that’s why I kept my mouth shut.”

“And that would have been better? If it had been me instead?” Kate snaps at him.

“That is not what I said Kate!” Rossi fires back. “For heaven’s sake! Can we all just take a breath? None of us are thinking clearly here.”

“I agree with Dave,” JJ says, “and I guarantee Spencer doesn’t want us doing this. He wants us working the case.”

“Spencer was just taken back to surgery. I came out to tell you, but it was hard to get your attention.” Hotch breaks in, the effort to keep the edge out his voice audible. “It’s serious. They said they would update me as soon as they have anything to tell, so I’m going to excuse myself and head to the surgical waiting room. Stay here, eat, work the case, and fill Garcia in please.”

As Hotch leaves the room, Rossi is struck by just how defeated their chief sounds, how worn out. It occurs to Rossi that Hotch well might have come to them looking for reassurance, the kind he is used to giving, but rarely receiving; if so, they certainly had let him down.

* * *

Hotch can handle stress; he has been tried and tested in the field, in situations that an average person could live lifetimes without experiencing. Agents under his command have been critically injured before, and there’s plenty of blood on his hands from suspects he’s had to kill for the greater good. When he realized he had failed to save his wife from a psychopathic serial killer, he had managed to compartmentalize long enough to rescue his son. Logic takes over seamlessly for Hotch when he’s presented with circumstances that seem insurmountable, and he has had enough successes to be confident in the face of poor odds.

Still, holding it together now, waiting for news from a surgical team for the second time in as many days, about an agent he has come to care for in a way he can’t explain, reduced from shrewd negotiator, to praying for a result they can live with, he can feel all pretense of control slipping. It is his responsibility to keep the team together and safe, and now with one of their number battling for his life, the rest of them are falling apart.

* * *

Penelope returned not long after Hotch’s departure and it was a Godsend because she broke the tension that was lingering, handing out salads, wraps and smoothies, having decided that they needed a health boost to keep going with no sleep. This led to a stream of complaints from Derek, who claimed that he worked out specifically so he could enjoy fatty greasy foods, which led to JJ pointing out that he hadn’t worked out in days, so he should shut up and try to enjoy it.

Over their very late lunch, Rossi suggested that JJ and Kate take a second run at Farland and see if a dominant, female only, presence had any effect on him. Dave still wanted to believe that Farland knew something that could help them locate Amelia, or at least figure out how she made her escape. So far, she had remained invisible, no sign of her at any border, between states or into Canada, local roadblocks at the county line came up empty handed, and the undercover car at the farm had seen no sign of her either. It was conceivable that she was hiding out somewhere waiting for things to die down before moving on and if that was the case, they still had a shot at catching her right here in Salt Lake, especially if Farland was willing to provide some insight.

Dave was surprised how quickly Derek agreed that he would go the farm to meet the botany professor, Dr. Zelen Green, having thought he might object to the plan simply because he made it.

“I’ll take doll face here with me, and she can introduce me to the Professor and play field agent for a day,” he says, elbowing her playfully, “get some air and some sun. We can get real food on the way too.” He laughs when she stomps on his toe under the table and reaches over to mess up her hair.

Dave hopes getting Kate out in the field with the rest of the team again, starting with JJ, will mend some fences and it leaves him free to see what he can do for his friend. They all help gather up garbage, Dave takes Aaron’s lunch, and they all head off on their separate missions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it took a little longer to update than I promised... my bad again. We will be back to updating every 2 - 3 days I think. (TC can correct me if I'm wrong...) Though I'm lucky (unlucky?) enough to be staying home at this time, TC is still working, boo. Hence the need for a couple of days for us to get the chapter together.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter, please don't send angry characters after us... what you can send is praise! We love comments and kudos, keep them coming! 
> 
> There are still many more chapters beating against the cages in our heads, just waiting to get out, so don't forget to subscribe to get notified when one breaks loose! (TC is probably going to tell me I'm reading too many of my zombie novels... haha)
> 
> ~CC~


	11. All We Know

#### Chapter 11

### All We Know

Arriving at the local police station, the sheriff was quick to usher Kate and JJ into his office to fill them in on the report from police in Canada. They picked up Cole Rainville for questioning and he told them that he bought the car, a 2008 Honda Accord, new at the time, for his girlfriend Sarah Ward. Wanting it to be a surprise he put the car in his name and never transferred it to hers, largely because she packed up left right after he proposed. She left him a letter apologizing, saying she wasn’t ready for marriage, so in his mind there was no reason to report her missing. As for the car, he said it was hers to take so there was no reason to report it stolen. Other than not being particularly helpful, saying he had no photos of them, or any personal belongings of hers, he was upstanding. No record, running a successful business, volunteering in the community. He did confirm that the photo they provided of Amelia Porter was indeed his Sarah Ward and gave them the address she had lived at; a secluded cottage belonging to Cole’s family, since rented to someone else.

JJ felt like there was a lot more to the story, a lot more that Cole Rainville could tell them, but they did have an alias to trace and that was a big break. During the time Amelia Porter had been off the map she had been living as Sarah Ward, probably in Sudbury, Ontario, and that might help them learn something about her. It wasn’t likely that they would be traveling to Canada in the near future but the sheriff gave her the name of the detective in charge. JJ would work her magic and see how much investigating the locals were willing to do on their behalf.

The sheriff already set Benton up in an interrogation room for them, and that was where they went next. Soon he would be moved to his long-term accommodations, so it is imperative they get all they can from him now.

“So, what is our strategy?” Kate asks, as they head for the room.

“I think we just have to be kind, but direct, about what we want. He let Amelia control him, so he’s open to someone else taking charge.” JJ replies. “Follow my lead, he hasn’t met me yet so I’m hoping I can create a bit of rapport first thing”

Benton was slouched in his chair, looking exhausted, and a bit irritated. JJ has nothing but persuasion at her disposal to convince him to talk, so she knows she needs to be cautious .

“Hello Benton,” she greets offering her hand to shake, taking her seat with Kate beside her. “I’m Agent Jareau with the FBI, and you probably remember Agent Callahan.” She waits for him to nod. He’s, studying her critically, and she is sure to sit straight in her chair, and make eye contact with him. “You can call us Jennifer and Kate. Can I get you a drink before we start?”

His gaze was calculating as he sized her up, pulling himself more upright in his seat. He moves to studying Kate for a minute, then lets his eyes roam back to JJ.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Rebecca,” he say coldly, “you aren’t going to build rapport with me, confuse me with all your psychobabble. I know what I am by now and I’m aiming to live with it. I don’t need you to help clear my conscience or get closer to God.” He leans forward, looking hard into JJ’s eyes, “God gave up on me a long time ago, so fuck it.”

JJ takes a moment to meet his gaze and hold it, trying to keep her expression unreadable. She was sure if she could convince him she truly sympathized he might break and give her what she needs.

“I don’t believe that Benton. Do you want to know what I believe?” She plunges ahead without waiting for an answer, not giving him a chance to totally shut down. “Your Dad was cruel to you, he had unreal expectations, never gave you a shot at living up to them. He set you up for this Benton. That’s what my heart tells me.” She waits, assessing him. It’s a gamble, she has no idea if she’s right, but she sure hopes so. He looks down, denying her eye contact, but still listening.

“Your mom died and all you had was your sister, because your Dad wasn’t much of a father,” she guesses. “But she had other obligations, loved you but wanted a better life.”

He flinches at those words, as if someone said them before, JJ thinks.

“Tell me how Amelia made you feel, Benton?”

Benton took a deep breath, still determinedly avoiding eye contact. “It wasn’t my fault you know,” he’s speaking quietly, voice strained, ignoring the question for now. “I was told I was snake bit, cursed you know? From day one.” He clasps his hands on the table, cuffs still around his wrists, wringing them as he speaks.

“My Dad was always yelling, my mom never stopped him. Miriam was-“ he stops to clear his throat, “she was it for me. I thought she loved me, but then she was making plans to leave. She got a job offer out of state, wanted to get married…she didn’t even think about me.”

JJ knows he’s crying now, and she waits gauging the situation. She isn’t without real sympathy at this point. Benton was made a killer, even if the people in his life didn’t realize they were doing it. Minutes pass and she exchanges a glance with Kate, just about to ask the question again when he speaks up.

“Amelia made me feel like I mattered.” He says, slowly. “Not like, she felt sorry for me either. She told me that the way I was, was exactly how I was supposed to be you know?” He looks up at JJ then, eyes wet, and holding a desperation intense enough to make her shiver a little.

“Never asked me to change or be better. She let me come to her place and hang out. Never asked me for anything.” He looks back down at his hands. “She was the only person, ever, who didn’t expect anything of me.”

JJ sighs, thinking about all the ways Benton had been used. His parents and sister might have been unwitting, there might have been misunderstanding, but she was certain that Amelia knew exactly what she was doing; how to groom a killer.

“Benton, she lied to you.” JJ says carefully, “the things she did, the things you did together, they weren’t ok. She used you, Benton and there were others before you, there will likely be more after as well.”

He draws his breath in sharply, head snapping up to glare at her. “Don’t you think I fucking know that? I was going to kill her you know! After what Andy said in the car…I fucking know!” He’s crying now, folds his arms on the table and puts his head down. JJ desperately wants to know what Andy said but doesn’t dare ask yet. Benton will shut down if she doesn’t let him come to it on his own terms.

She can barely hear him when he talks again, his head still buried, “At first I was going to run. I had Andy and Rebecca and I thought if they could forgive me, we could be a family. Somewhere far away from here.”

He shudders as he breathes in and out a few times. “Then Andy told me, that her and him…that she was at the farm. It’s why he came to visit me, because of her. I knew then I had to kill her, or it would never end. Just a nightmare that goes on forever.” He looks up again suddenly. “I shot Andy, but only to stop him from going to her. Only to keep them apart.”

JJ uses all her resolve to stay quiet, and just as she fears he won’t continue he does.

“I went there to kill her, but first I wanted her to tell Rebecca the truth about me. Tell her I didn’t kill Miriam! I was stupid, but I didn’t kill her!” He gasps for breath but keeps going, dashing tears away with the back of his fist. “I wanted to kill her, but I couldn’t. She had me, she was going to slit my throat before the FBI barged in. She’s dangerous and now she will do whatever she wants.”

He slumps back in his chair, arms across his chest protecting himself. JJ felt a chill again, thinking over what he had just said. Looking to Kate she wonders if she will get the message that they need to get to Andy. Standing and excusing herself, Kate leaves the room. Benton barely notices.

“I can’t help you,” he repeats, “all I know is she has a truck. It was her Dad’s and it might be the only thing she cares about. It’s a classic Ford, and if she took it, it might be your only hope of finding her.”

* * *

Morgan and Garcia pull up to the Appleby farm and Professor Zelen Green is already waiting for them. In Derek’s opinion he's odd, but apparently an expert in his field and already sweet on Garcia.

“Good Morning!” Garcia chirps, jumping out of the SUV to meet him and shake his hand. “Thank you so much for coming, and so quick too!”

The professor is scrawny, Derek observes, his hair prematurely silver gray, kept long with wild curls. He's dressed in jeans and a light-yellow dress shirt with no jacket or tie, and he is wearing cowboy boots, which look ridiculous. Garcia doesn't seem to share his thoughts though, and appears completely taken with the man.

“Well it’s after classes so it worked out really well actually,” he answers, “and you were so kind on the phone who could resist?” He winks at Penelope, and then extends his hand to Derek. Derek shakes it grudgingly, the man never taking his eyes off Garcia anyway.

“So where do we start? I’ve never aided in a police investigation before, so you’ll have to walk me through it.” He smiles at Penelope, back to ignoring Derek.

“We could probably start at the Greenhouse, considering that’s where all the plants are Professor,” Derek interrupts. “Also, I am an FBI field agent so I might be your better bet for walking you through the process. Penelope here is our technical analyst, so she’s pretty new to field work too.” He wedges himself between them, ignoring the glare from Penelope, and takes over leading the way.

“Actually, you’re Supervisory Special Agent Morgan with the BAU,” Garcia says, clearing her throat and fixing Derek with a look. “Moving on and up, I was asking the professor this morning when we talked if being around the plants, just breathing the air was dangerous. Like if it could do damage to someone’s lungs, or say brain?” Penelope drawls, eyes still on Derek, clearly making a point. 

“Did you? Oh, I don’t remember you asking.” The professor responds. “But no, I don’t think so. Some would not be safe to touch, true; many have toxins that can be absorbed through the skin, but more likely they would cause irritation, rashes, even a chemical type burn.”

“Oh good,” Penelope tells him, “and here we are! This is bigger than I imagined.”

The greenhouse is large and sprawling, the roof is relatively low, which is why they didn’t see it the first time they pulled up. It is a giant rectangle, a door on each small side, and inside plants are stacked on shelves, tables, and the floor, in neat easy access rows. They had pulled everyone out of it when they found out the plants might be dangerous, so now it was just them, the local authorities waiting for the all clear.

The professor seems impressed to say the least as he goes from table to table looking, and occasionally touching and exclaiming over one plant or another. The Nightshade impresses him, along with the Castor Bean plants in big pots resting on the floor. Penelope follows along, while Derek hangs back, feeling agitated, not overly interested unless these plants are going to lead them directly to Amelia.

Coming when Penelope waves him over, he is introduced to the Nerium Oleander, Wolfsbane, and Rosary pea, newly cataloged by Zelen. He has never seen Penelope this interested in plants, you would think they were kittens the way she is captivated by the professors impromptu speeches each time he finds a new and different plant. It’s especially interesting since in the car, she was scared to even come to the property or enter the dreaded ‘greenhouse of death’.

“This truly is amazing, whoever she is, your suspect has one heck of a green thumb.” Zelen tells them, holding one of the small potted plants up to his face to study. “I have to say it looks like she was experimenting with what she could get to grow, and what she could sell. A lot of these would be very desirable for use in supplements, and the extremely toxic ones, she could have been rendering the poison from, making it into liquid or powder form. In some cases, it would be just a matter of boiling down the roots.”

“Do you know what kind of market there would be for the poison once it was rendered? Where would she sell it?” Derek asks, watching the professor pick up another plant to study.

“That’s not my area of expertise,” he answers. “I know that lots of people would pay for some of these species just to decorate their gardens. Many of them are nearly impossible to get started but are hardy once they are established. Deadly Nightshade is beautiful and unique in a flower bed. She could sell them on eBay if she wanted to, or she could drum up interest through a chat room like the one I invited Penelope to. I bought plants that way from a user, Belladonna4U, up until a few weeks ago.” he tells them.

“That was information you should have led with Green,” Derek frowns, “Did you meet this user in person? How did you get the plants?”

The professor was starting to look a little nervous. “It wasn’t illegal. I use the plants to make herbal remedies.”

“Maybe not, but its entirely possible you were communicating with our suspect, Professor. Did you meet this Belladonna4U in person?” Derek asks.

“No, we met in the group chat room, then we moved to a private chat and I provided my cell number. I was told I would get a text with a location, date, and time, and I could pick up the plants and leave cash. That’s it, I swear!” The Professor looks pale, likely thinking about who he may have been dealing with.

“You didn’t think it was odd that this person was suggesting a dead drop, when you weren’t doing anything illegal?” Derek is incredulous. “And you didn’t think to share this when Penelope here contacted you from the FBI?!”

“Of course, I thought it was strange! But I couldn’t get the plants anywhere else, and like I said it wasn’t illegal, just strange.” Zelen Green is getting defensive now.

“We need the number you were contacted from and the location you picked up the plants.” Derek says, handing the professor a pad and pen. “What about the username? Can you track that?” He turns to Garcia, who is watching the exchange wide eyed.

“I could try if the user was in the chat room” Penelope answers. “Do any of the other users know who Belladonna4U is?” She asks the professor.

“Not that I know of. All I know is Belladonna4U appeared the first time 4 years ago and disappeared a few weeks ago.” He answers, still defensive. “You have to understand that this field has its fair share of eccentric people. I did think it was odd we couldn’t meet, but I didn’t think I was hurting anyone,” he says sincerely, genuinely distressed.

Ignoring the distress and excuses, Derek asks, “so when was the last time you saw Belladonna4U in the chat room? Exact as possible Professor.”

He thinks about it, then replies, “3 weeks now.”

Derek is interrupted by his cell phone before he can ask anymore questions. Still marveling at the professor, he moves away to answer.

* * *

Hotch is so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice Dave entering the waiting room until he is setting takeout food in front of him, and even then, he doesn’t look up. He is beyond exhausted, but he won’t sleep until he’s sure that Spencer is out of any danger, and peacefully resting himself.

“I don’t want it Dave,” he sighs.

“Well no, but you need to eat it anyway.” His long-time friend tells him. “You won’t do anyone any good if you run yourself into the ground.”

Hotch shrugs, eyes downcast, no energy to fight about it.

“Listen,” Dave starts, turning in his chair to look at Hotch, “I’m sorry things got a little out of hand back there in the boardroom, but I don’t want you to worry about it. Everyone is out following leads; the work will put everyone back on the right track. Renew our team spirit.” He tries for lighthearted, hoping to remove some of the load from Hotch’s shoulders.

“It’s good that they’re on it.” Hotch says. “I hope they’re going to keep they’re guard up,” he finally looks at Dave, “we don’t know that Porter isn’t still in town.”

“True,” Dave replies, thoughtfully, “but I’m starting to get the impression she’s a very intelligent woman. I don’t think she will show herself just to attack one of us again. She won’t risk being caught.”

“You’re probably right, though I’m worried about where that leaves us as far as finding her.” Hotch sighs, leaning back in his chair to stare up at the ugly white ceiling tiles.

“We will find her. JJ and Kate went to give talking to Benton another try. They’ll find out how it went with Cole Rainville and the Canadian authorities too.” Rossi tells him. “Speaking of, where do you suppose someone gets a name like Cole Rainville?”

Hotch can’t help but chuckle. “How did they know he was going to be good looking enough to pull it off?”

They are both quiet for a few minutes, Dave considering his next words carefully. “You aren’t in this alone,” he says finally, “this has got to be bringing back some memories for you. I’m here if you want to get some of it off your chest.”

“My memories are the least of my worries, Dave.” Hotch sits up straight. “We are all in this because of me and I can’t pinpoint where it all went wrong. It didn’t feel right from the moment we split up, but I’m not sure what else I could have done. It was what needed to be do."

“You made the decisions that someone had to make, with the information you had at the time. That’s all you can do, Aaron. It’s what you would tell any agent under you if they were beating themselves up about a case.” Dave leans in closer. “You either believe it or you don’t. If you don’t you should stop preaching it; if you do, take your own advice.”

“Is it always that easy for you Dave?”

Dave huffs at that. “I didn’t say that it was easy. It’s rare that anything worth doing ever is, Aaron.”

They are both quiet for a while, Hotch continually glancing from the clock to the door, and when he finally gets up to pace, Dave speaks up again.

“Alright, you need to do something more productive than pace.” Dave stands up as he says it, “you have phone calls to make to keep this show running smoothly. I can help if you want but you’re the boss, so you need to call Cruz and update him. Have you done that?”

Not waiting for Hotch to answer, Dave plunges ahead, “it won’t be the most pleasant call, but you need to let Spencer’s mother’s doctor know what happened. You never know when they might try to contact him.”

Hotch looks ready to protest, but Dave cuts him off, holding up his hand. “Look, all I know is sitting here idle will drive you crazy. You need to work.”

* * *

“Agent Morgan,” Derek says into the phone, keeping his eye on the shifty professor, where he’s gone back to using plants to flirt with Garcia.

“Derek, it’s Kate,” she sounds a little breathless, so he is instantly attentive. “Benton gave us a lead; he says Amelia owns a pickup truck. Classic Ford that belonged to her father. Are you still at the property?”

“Ya I am,” he responds. “But the place has been searched. I have no idea where it would be, or how to find it. There’s got to be 75 acres here.”

“Benton told us that years ago they would go to the property, back when it was vacant. It was a dream of Amelia’s to own a farm, and she talked a lot about buying that particular one.” Kate tells him hurriedly. “He said there’s an old access road that runs off the highway, right into the back of the property, and they used to park beside an old collapsed barn about a quarter of a mile in. He thinks she might have kept the truck there.”

Great, Derek thinks, a wild goose chase for a truck she quite likely used to escape. But a lead is a lead, so he would get some locals to help and go hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a slower chapter this time 'round, but the team needs to gather information at some point, unfortunately leads don't chase themselves down. We promise more interesting chapters are ahead, we needed to get all of our duckies in a row first.
> 
> As always please feed our addiction with kudos and comments!
> 
> Don't miss out on our more exciting chapters, make sure you subscribe so that you're notified when we update! 
> 
> ~CC~


	12. Bad Timing

#### Chapter 12

### Bad Timing

Callahan had thought to send local reinforcements, so Derek was met in front of the house by a cruiser and an unmarked pickup truck with an ATV in the back, shortly after getting off the phone. The officers in the cruiser agreed to stay and help Garcia and Professor Green in the greenhouse, and Derek went with officer Gaertner to try and locate the access road off the highway.

“Did your guy say how far?” The officer asks as they drive slowly carefully scanning the roadside. It’s not a busy stretch of highway but they still have irritated motorists honking and speeding past them.

“No, we’re lucky we got anything from him, coordinates would be a bit much to hope for. We’ll just follow the highway around the back of the property and keep our eyes peeled for some kind of turn off.” Derek says, focused out his window searching for anything that resembled a road. The sun was already on its way to setting and low light wasn’t helping the situation. He was tired and frustrated, he didn’t like leaving Penelope with Professor “it’s not illegal”, and the locals had failed to find any aerial shots of the farm on record, that might have aided the search.

They drove back and forth twice before Derek shouted “Stop” on the third drive by, having spotted the hint of a break in the ditch that looked like nothing more than a deer trail. Jumping out he went on foot to check it out, and it did seem to provide a narrow entry into the bush, so overhung with branches that if you weren’t looking for it, you would miss it every time. Jogging back to the truck he points behind him, asking officer Gaertner what he thought of driving the truck in.

“Ya I think we try, stop and use the ATV if it’s too narrow. Headlights on the truck will make it easier to see if we can get it in.” The officer replies, and with Derek back in the cab they attempt to navigate the narrow trail at a crawl.

Crashing through the thick covering of branches at the entrance, Derek is quick to realize that it isn’t an access road, it’s an old laneway, probably to a hay storage barn, or maybe it had been a separate farm in its own right years ago.

Just like Farland had said, about a quarter mile back from the highway, a crumbled barn sat, collapsed into the foundation for years, no one caring enough to clear away the rubble. The stone wall that made up its footings still stood strong, a testament to the original craftmanship.

The track they were on was crowded on either side by trees, and overgrown with grass and weeds, barely recognizable as a path of any kind and it was easy to see how it could be missed. What was left of the barn loomed in front of them, and they were facing a large opening with smashed and broken wooden doors, hanging off their hinges, that would have once closed in livestock or storage he assumed. There was no sign of the truck they were looking for yet, and the barn seemed to block any further progress onto the property, so they stopped and got out, surveying the surroundings cautiously.

There was little to no light filtering through the thick woods , the open space that would once have surrounded the barn, covered with saplings, brush and burdocks, coming right up the foundation itself, leaving an open area only just wide enough to turn around in if you really maneuvered. It was quiet, and the air was chilly, he could hear nothing, not even faint noise from the highway. There was no sign of human life at first, as he searched the ground for tracks, but then he did note that some of the surrounding scrub was broken off and possibly previously flattened on the left side of the dilapidated structure. He pointed, as he waved the officer over and they made the decision to stay together as they headed down the barely visible path, sticking close to the foundation wall, guns drawn and ready.

Sure enough, rounding the back of the barn, in front of them in a stand of weeds as high as the hood, stood a Ford pickup, just as Benton had predicted. Derek curses and blames his exhaustion for not considering sooner that this could be a well-orchestrated ambush, but then shakes off the paranoia and resolves to carefully keep on high alert.

Approaching the truck, keeping his gun ready, he pulls his flashlight from his belt, glad he’s wearing a vest. There is no sound and no sign of anyone in or near the truck, it doesn’t even look like anyone has recently plowed through the weeds to reach the doors. It’s parked with the driver’s side so close to the barn that you wouldn’t even be able to fully open the door, and as he gets closer, he notes what looks like a necklace hanging from the rearview mirror. The truck itself is an early 80’s F-250, 2 tone blue and white, completely rust free but looking like it’s been used for work. Gaertner keeps going to scout around the back of the truck and down the far side of the barn, while Derek stops to try the passenger door, a little surprised to find it unlocked.

Leaning in he flashes his light, but the truck is virtually empty, not much of anything to see inside. The glove box doesn’t even contain registration or insurance info, the console and back seat don’t hold so much as a receipt. Climbing in without letting down his guard Derek reaches for the necklace, the only personal item he can see.

Unhooking it reveals that it’s a long gold chain, holding a locket and what looks to him like an expensive diamond ring, not something you would expect to find in a truck left in the woods. The locket is gold like the chain, oval shaped, and contains a picture of a dark haired, well-tanned man who looks to be in his 20’s, smiling, and holding an equally dark-haired little girl, creamy complexion, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The picture is clearly old, and he doesn’t doubt that this is a young Amelia and her Dad, long before her life took an ugly turn.

If he had to guess, he would say the ring was a platinum band, featuring a beautiful princess cut diamond, in a Tiffany setting. It was simple, but expensive, not something you would typically leave out for people to find. No, it was the type of ring you insured.

Startled by officer Gaertner, approaching his door, Derek drops the ring and necklace with it, cursing his inattention. “Geez man, you were awfully quiet, did you find anything?” Derek asks, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal. Man, he was jumpy, and something was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He’d really like to get out of here.

“Nothing that seems out of the ordinary around the other side,” he answers, “I’m gonna head back to the truck, radio for some backup to secure this place. I’ll also unload the ATV and see if there’s an obvious trail through the woods before it’s totally dark. You good here?”

Looking around him, Derek shrugs. He isn’t staying long, he is going to leave the truck to the locals to fingerprint and tow, so he nods. “Don’t go far. I’m not sure we should split up.” Derek’s tells him.

Gaertner nods, glancing back toward his truck, not quite as uneasy as Derek. “I’ll be careful. I’ll just turn the truck around, I think there’s room, make it easier to unload. Then I’ll wait for back up if you think that’s best.”

Derek nods at that and officer Gaertner heads off while Derek gets out of the truck, fishing around the floor for the necklace, even as he hears the sound of the other truck starting up and moving. There is still some sunlight but not much, and it takes him a second to locate it again, his hand hitting something under the seat just as he does.

Pulling it out reveals a small but very heavy safe, chained and padlocked to the seat frame; there’s no way he’s getting into it without tools, but it’s certainly an interesting find. He locates the necklace, hanging it back on the mirror to be collected and inventoried by the locals, and is about to head out when he hears a faint thud, and what sounds like a moan, making his blood run cold. Forgetting the necklace and safe, he raises his gun, making his way hastily back to the front of the barn without even shutting the trucks door.

* * *

Following Dave’s advice that work would take his mind off Spencer, and the team being out on the case without him, Hotch dutifully made phone calls, glad that he didn’t have to speak to Spencer’s mother directly, and equally glad that Cruz wasn’t Strauss. Being Cruz, he took the news in stride, worried about Spencer but not stressed about the investigation, simply asking Hotch to keep him informed and let him know if he could help. With that done he goes to wash up in the bathroom, leaving Rossi in the waiting room in case there was any news, and takes a minute to wallow in the feeling of absolute exhaustion that’s hitting him.

He needs sleep but he isn’t going to get it until he knows Spencer is ok, comfortable, and not heading for another emergency surgery. A drink would be amazing, but not really in the cards at the moment either, and it likely wouldn’t help to clear his head any. Heaving a sigh, he’s heading back to join Dave when his cell rings, and he looks down to see that it’s Kate.

“We got a lead from Farland, he says Amelia owns a truck that he thinks she keeps near the farm. Gave us a rough location. Derek is looking into it with the locals.” Kate gives him a quick rundown on where they’re at. “Garcia is still at the greenhouse with the professor from the University, and JJ and I are going to head to the farm now.”

A little annoyed, Hotch replies, “I would appreciate it if you let me know where everyone is going before they go.”’

“Sorry,” Kate sounds chagrined, “we didn’t want to bother you, with Spencer and all...” she trails off clearly unsure what to say, having not expected Hotch’s reaction.

“Call me when you get to the farm, and let me know what Derek found,” he tells her, shortly. “Regardless of where I am or what I may be doing.”

“Yes sir,” she says before hanging up, and he knows he should feel a little guilty but keeping track of everyone was hard when they didn’t check in, and sometimes the team got just a little too comfortable following their own orders.

It was another half hour after he retuned to the waiting room, spent with Rossi telling him stories about his time in retirement before someone came to talk to them, and Hotch remembered how nervous he was.

Both Hotch and Rossi stood to shake hands with the man, the same doctor who had taken Spencer into surgery the second time, who introduced himself as Dr. Shelly, another trauma surgeon.

“So, Dr. Novak was able to join us in surgery, and he’s finishing up now. Your friend is it?” he asks, pausing for Hotch to nod, “he did well considering his condition, we located a perforation in the small bowel, undoubtedly incurred during the original trauma. It was missed during the first surgery, which is not entirely uncommon, the folds of the bowel can hide such a small injury quite easily.” He tells them, and Hotch thinks it sounds like an excuse for incompetence but keep his mouth shut for now.

“Dr. Novak and I worked together to repair the tear, we flushed the area to clean out any spilled bowel contents, he will be put on a stronger IV antibiotic to specifically target this type of infection, and we do expect a full recovery.” He finishes with a reassuring smile, and Hotch feels a little kinder toward the man for this piece of good news. In fact, he can already feel a wave of relief, that makes him suddenly feel as tired as he rightfully should. Spencer will be ok, that’s all he needs to know, the rest he can deal with.

“He will be moved back up to ICU very shortly, but he’s already extubated and breathing well, so he won’t be there more than overnight if all goes as we expect. Then we can move him to a regular room, but he will stay here at least two weeks, for the duration of the antibiotic drip, and to get a start on his recovery. He’s been through a lot, but he’s strong.” The doctor smiles again, looking back over his shoulder as he turns to leave, “one of you is welcome to sit with him in ICU, though he won’t likely wake up until tomorrow morning. I’ll send the nurse out to get you once he’s settled.”

With the doctor gone, Hotch is left standing beside Dave, wondering if this nightmare of a case will ever end, and he clenches his fists trying to contain all the emotion that he can’t let show because he needs to remain in charge and get them out of this, team intact.

* * *

Staying aware while swallowing down his ever growing feeling of unease, Derek sticks close the barn as he makes his way back to where they left their truck. Stopping at the corner, he steadies his breathing so he can listen, but the only sound he can hear is the steady rumble of the truck idling.

Taking a deep breath, steadying his hands and nerves, he rounds the corner and has to force down any thoughts of panic at the scene before him, eyes darting back and forth for any sign of movement anywhere in his vicinity, because now he knows there is someone else here.

The tailgate of the truck, now backed in, is open, the ramps are connected to offload the ATV, and just behind them is officer Gaertner’s unmoving body. To spite the growing dark Derek can see the blood…spreading beneath the discarded body, soaking the grass and dirt, flowing from at least one wound in the man’s neck. If the air was chill before, it’s ice cold now, as Derek leans over to check for a pulse he doesn’t expect to find.

“Fuck!” he swears out loud, standing straight again, willing his hands to stay steady, ignoring the urge to panic, he moves toward the truck, sliding down the driver’s side and swinging the door open. He quickly checks the back seat before radioing for help; he doesn’t hear a sound, not the rustle of grass, not a footstep, not one whisper of movement, until the “phish” sound of an aerosol can discharging, as he turns away from the vehicle to offer aid to the downed officer.

Immediately blinded, he stumbles into the side of the truck, clutching his gun in one hand, using the other to wipe at his face. He knows he’s in trouble, and he scrambles to clear his vision and resist the urge to drop to his knees as the burning pain in his eyes and throat threaten to eclipse all common sense. He catches a blur of movement through the haze of tears, and then his chest his slammed against the truck, someone stepping up right behind him, so close he can hear them breathing. He swings an elbow back, but his attacker easily sidesteps, moves in closer, and then there’s the unmistakable feel of a gun pressed to the back of his neck. He can feel her now, hear her laugh, and he’s sure he could smell her if his sinuses weren’t raw and flaming. There is no doubt in his mind who this is, and he wants to curse out loud again, because she got the jump on him, and how the hell did that happen? Where the hell did she come from?

“You and your friends suffer from a steep learning curve, Derek,” she whispers in his ear. He would love to say her voice is unpleasant but it’s not. She speaks with a lilting tone, cadence rising and falling almost as if she’s singing her words. “All you had to do was leave well enough alone, but you just can’t do anything right.”

She pauses, as if giving him an opportunity to speak, to plead for his life maybe, and he would, if he weren’t sure that it would simply bring her more joy before the inevitable.

“I would like to murder you just like I did your completely dispensable friend back there,” he can feel her head turn, and he jostles her a little in an attempt to shake her off. It only makes her laugh again, a beautiful sound that completely belies her intent, and somehow reminds him of the silver sleigh bell from that strange kids’ movie about a train to the North Pole. “Oh, don’t worry Derek, I’m not going to kill you. Do you want to know why?”

“No Amelia but I bet you’re going to tell me. Before you do though, let me warn you that maybe you should kill me because I will find you, I swear to God I will!” It’s a stupid thing to say, but Goddamn he’s mad; not least of all at himself for falling into her trap.

She laughs again, and shoves the gun harder into his neck, making him grimace.

“Rude.” She states. “I’m going to tell you why anyway.” She gives him a shove with her shoulder, and he grunts as he’s pushed further into the truck. “It’s because even kitty cats know that dead things are no fun to play with, and Derek,” she leans so close that he can feel her breath, and he flings his head back, hoping to connect and dislodge her grip on the gun, but she dodges, as if she knows every move he has planned. She isn’t even holding him, but she’s got him, and if he wants to survive he will have to listen to her.

Ignoring his escape attempt she continues, “I’m going to spend years playing with your team.”

The next thing he knows her weight is gone, and he immediately tries to spin around, but he’s met with white hot searing pain as something solid connects with his skull and he slumps to the ground, only maintaining consciousness long enough to register the feel of dripping blood, and the welcome sound of far off sirens.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back again. The picture (that I hope is actually showing, sorry if it's not) at the end is the inspiration for the ring described in the chapter. Another chapter in the books, I hope you all enjoyed it! We couldn't have just poor Spencer have all the fun, now could we? /evil smile/
> 
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	13. Orders

#### Chapter 13

### Orders

There was a predictable sense of déjà vu being back in the ICU, watching Spencer sleep, and feeling not just tired, but bone weary. Scrubbing his hands over his face Hotch thinks about the last 2 days, the few leads they have, and how best to wrap everything up and get out of Salt Lake City. He knows they need to find Amelia, and at the same time worries that they won’t. His mind turns to Foyet, the impact the man had on his life, the damage he ultimately did, and the very real possibility that Amelia will haunt Spencer in much the same way. Hotch would do anything to prevent that, to protect Spencer from the constant draining feeling of always looking over his shoulder, but would he be able to if Amelia eluded them and remained at large?

Up to this point the case has been a comedy of errors that is in no way funny, and all the doubts he’s had from the start come rushing back as he thinks. So many things are not adding up, and he is desperate to find answers to the questions that are nagging at him; why did Amelia decide to return to her hometown when it was such a risky move? Where had she acquired the skills to evade police for over a decade? Then turn an FBI raid on its head to make another escape? Why had she stayed to confront Spencer when she should have been making good on her getaway? It felt very personal, but none of them knew her previous to coming here, so why target his team?

Hotch has the sudden and disturbing thought that Amelia Porter doesn’t see them as a threat, and it makes his blood run cold. If the FBI storming her farm was nothing more than an inconvenience, then what kind of woman were they dealing with? She stuck around to toy with them, to inflict pain and suffering, possibly as payback for disrupting the good thing she had going, but had she ever been afraid? Spencer had said no, not even when they heard sirens and back up arriving. If her escape was so well thought out that all the might of the FBI combined with the local police force didn’t give her pause, just what hope did they have of bringing her in?

Hotch’s thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and Dave comes in looking too sober to have good news.

“I need to talk to you Aaron,” he says, glancing over at Spencer.

Hotch stands to follow not looking forward to whatever Dave needs to tell him, not sure how much more he can take, but certain that more is coming. They walk all the way out of the ICU area, and back to the board room that is still outfitted with Garcia’s computer equipment, and Dave closes the door behind them.

“First thing’s first,” Dave starts, “Derek is downstairs in the emergency room, but he is going to be ok!” Dave rushes the end of the sentence when he sees Hotch’s eyes widen.

Turning for the door, Hotch is stopped by Dave stepping in front of him.

“Wait!” He says, adjusting the volume of his voice before continuing. “Just wait, because there’s more you need to know before you go charging out of here ok?” Hotch knows he’s being handled, and he doesn’t like the feeling. If it were anyone but Dave Rossi standing in his way right now, he would be going right through them, but out of respect for their long association as student and mentor, he stops to listen.

“Was it Amelia?” Hotch asks, crossing his arms, trying to contain some of his mounting rage.

“Yes, it was, Aaron,” Dave puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, “but he is going to be fine. He has a concussion, needs a few stiches, Garcia is with him right now.”

“Perfect,” Hotch says with an odd mix of seriousness and sarcasm. “It’s good that you’re so calm about all of this Dave, but I’m not. Can we go now?”

Shaking his head Dave says, “No, there’s more you need to know before we join them.” Waiting to make sure Hotch is staying put to listen, then bracing for a possible explosion,  
Dave continues. “You know Derek went to find Amelia’s truck, and he was accompanied by officer Gaertner from the local PD,” Dave pauses, in no way enjoying this, “and there’s no easy way to say this…he was killed.”

There’s no explosion, but Dave thought he would have preferred it to the look of absolute defeat on Hotch’s face. Giving Hotch a moment to process, Dave thinks about how glad he would be to see the tail end of this investigation and leave Salt Lake City behind.

“Amelia?” Hotch says quietly, eyes on the ground, not on Dave’s face.

“Yes,” Dave responds, and waits for Hotch to process.

“Can I go now?” Hotch asks, what Dave considers dangerously calm now, “or is there more?”

“There’s more but I’ve done my part. I’m going to let JJ and Kate take care of the rest.” Dave says.

He has every faith that Hotch can handle this, he is a dynamic leader, who bares up under pressure better than anyone Dave has ever known, but he would still like to see him catch a break soon and it wasn’t looking like today was the day.

Sighing he leaves the room after Hotch, praying for a miracle.

* * *

The bright lights, and constant hub bub of activity in the emergency room were making Derek want to throw up. He knew he should be grateful to be alive and he would be if he wasn’t still so damn mad at himself. He knew there was something off about that place tonight, had reproached himself for his paranoia at the time, but since when did he not listen to his gut?!

His eyes are still burning, bloodshot and leaking even after the nurse flushed them with a medicated solution. His head aches and he would have to squint against the light even if he hadn’t been viciously assaulted with pepper spray. His throat is still raw from the chemical he had inhaled, and all of it combined left him a very bad mood.

Currently he was waiting for a plastic surgeon to stitch the wound on his head, a couple inches behind his ear, where Amelia had hit him hard enough to knock him out. He was impressed by her strength, she had clearly trained in combat because she easily dodged his attempts to lash out and disarm her, and her confidence spoke to the fact she would shoot with no hesitation. She was ready for him every time, anticipating his moves, and never once did she show any sign of anxiety. Smaller than him by far, she had subdued him quickly, albeit playing by no rules, and it was by her decision alone that he lived.

He was frustrated and trapped here awaiting treatment when all he wanted to do was get back out there, find her, and stop her. Clenching his fists, he did his best to contain his temper, because losing it would only make his head hurt worse, but all that pent-up rage now had nowhere to go so he started to stand up to pace, only to be met with a wave of dizziness that nearly caused him to tip over.

It also led to Penelope shrieking, “What are you doing?!” at top volume as she pushed aside the curtain to join him in his tiny cubicle without invitation. Grabbing his arm, she half guided, half pushed him back onto the bed, forcing him to lie down and put his feet up.

“I only went to find you some water and you are trying to get up?! What is the matter with you Derek Morgan! You are going to give me a heart attack. No, you already did! Now stay put!” Her voice is far too loud, and he cringes.

“Hey, baby girl, can you turn the volume down just a notch?” He asks, “my head is killing me.”

“Oh! Gosh! I’m so sorry!” She looks stricken, “but if you don’t want me to yell, stay put!”

With that she begins rearranging the pillows behind his head, draping a blanket over his legs, and then holds up the water for him to drink. He lets her do as she pleases because he does know how much he scared her, and he regrets it. He’s fine though, not that anyone is listening.

“The boss man is on his way down,” Penelope tells him ominously, and Derek nearly chokes, spitting the straw from his mouth,

“What? Why?” Derek near shouts, wincing as he does. It redoubles the intense pressure that was already making his head feel like it was going to explode.

Penelope cocks her head a little and assesses him, before replying. “Well because he’s the unit chief and he did not seem especially pleased that another of his agents was injured on the job.”

Great, Derek thinks, Hotch is unhappy. Well he can join the club.

“Oh,” Penelope says perking up with a smirk, “the nurse gave me this gown for you to put on.” She holds it up, its typically paper thin, and open in the back which Derek fails to understand. Why bother with clothes at all if your ass was going to hang out?

“Nice huh?” Penelope winks at him, “I like the pattern and I think the lack of fabric will show off your muscles.”

He’s glad she thinks this is funny, he owes her that much he guesses. She is not a fan of him throwing himself into danger, her words, and after the locals at the greenhouse had gotten his call for back up, she had been left in the dark until he was taken away by ambulance.

“It will show off my ass, and I am not putting it on.” He says firmly. She laughs.

“Well your ass is a muscle, sugar” Penelope laughs. “But seriously she says you are staying the night, and your clothes are gruesome, sir.”

“I am not staying the night; I am getting stitches and painkillers. That’s it.”

Penelope shakes her head but goes back to fussing with the bedding, then sits in the chair to read aloud from a romance novel she found in her purse. He has to admit that the distraction is kind of nice, and he knows his baby girl needs to feel like she’s helping. Closing his eyes to block out the light, he tries to relax and rest, even though the pain is intense, and he can’t turn off his thoughts.

He knows Hotch is bound to be angry, someone is dead, Amelia is gone again, and the lion’s share of the blame for that is on him. What he wouldn’t give for a redo on this one, because he swears Amelia Porter is never going to get the best of him again.

* * *

Having headed to the Appleby farm after finishing their talk with Benton, JJ and Kate arrived just as the locals were heading out on Derek’s call for back up. It took some time to find the overgrown laneway, barely noticeable in daylight, and now nearly indiscernible in the encroaching dark. Having to wait for dispatch to triangulate a location from the GPS in Gaertner’s vehicle caused frustration for everyone, and the mood turned distinctly more somber when they finally arrived at the broken-down barn, set in a small clearing in the woods.

After watching the ambulances disappear from view, JJ alternates between empathy for the locals who lost one of their own, and relief that Derek was alive with comparatively minor injuries. Contemplating the sort of woman capable of inflicting so much damage, leaving one man very intentionally dead, and the other just as intentionally alive, then fleeing without leaving a trace behind.

The scene wasn’t yielding very much to process, the truck empty and wiped clean, tracks and footprints disguised by thick grass and brush, the ATV missing from the back of Gaertner’s truck yet to be recovered. Some of the locals had taken dogs to search the woods and trails but JJ would be surprised if they found Amelia. She was a survivalist, she knew the terrain better than they did, and that combined with the dark would likely render her head start insurmountable. That said, JJ wasn’t without understanding and she knows the locals can’t stand to be idle, so she just prays no one else gets hurt tonight.

Turning to Kate who was standing beside her, clearly lost in her own thoughts, JJ suggests “maybe we should go, the locals have got this I think.” She looks around her. “We need to talk to Hotch and the others, and I would like to see with my own eyes that Derek is ok.”

Kate nods, giving JJ a sad half smile. “Ya I don’t think that we can help much more here. Not tonight anyway.”

Neither of them feel good about Amelia having gotten away, or anything about the situation right now, but it would be good to be back with the whole team, formulating a plan to finish this case and get out of Salt Lake City.

* * *

Garcia looks up when Hotch and Rossi appear in the doorway of Derek’s tiny cubicle, shrinking away from Hotch’s severe expression, even as Rossi smiles gently at her.

“He asleep?” Rossi gestures to Derek, eyes closed and looking peaceful.

“No, he’s likely faking,” Penelope answers, giving Hotch a weary glance. “I told him you were on your way down.”

“Thanks doll face,” Derek says, joining the conversation. “I am not faking, I’m resting.”

“I called JJ. She and Kate are on their way.” Hotch speaks up in his monotone way, giving away no hint to his mood. “Derek, how are you feeling?”

“I’ll be fine.” Derek gives Penelope a wane smile, “a few stitches and a minor concussion. Nothing I can’t sleep off.”

“Actually, it was nine stitches and a severe concussion. The doctor says you need to take it easy, and that you were extremely lucky that it wasn’t worse.” Penelope corrects, Derek shooting her reproachful look for her trouble.

“Don’t worry,” Hotch cuts in, giving Penelope a quick half smile. “He is going to rest and do as ordered.” Turning his gaze on Derek, he stares him down for a moment, daring Derek to object. Everyone was grateful when JJ and Kate arrived with excellent timing, shown in by one of the ER nurses, looking entirely subdued having just come from the scene of the latest run in with Amelia.

It’s a tight squeeze in the cubicle, but they shift around making it work, JJ moving in to give Derek a long hug, Penelope perching on the side of the bed to give Kate the chair, Rossi and Hotch standing and looking generally disapproving.

Hotch scans the room, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn, then stands straight declaring, “I’ll be back. I need to make some arrangements. You should all stay right here.”

They exchange glances, with varying degrees of nervousness, Penelope practically beside herself, Derek playing it cool.

“Well I’m already injured; he likely won’t kill me.” Derek quips. “And you baby girl, are far too pretty to kill, especially with that beautiful mind of yours.”

“Derek Morgan!” Penelope snaps, jumping to her feet. “This is not funny! He’s not fooling around. Did you see how mad he is? Oh, I don’t like this!” Penelope is up wringing her hands, Kate going to put an arm around her.

“Baby doll, I’m sorry! Just trying to lighten the mood. You don’t need to get your feathers all ruffled.” Derek holds his hand out gesturing for her to come back. “No one is mad at you.”

Derek gets it, this case keeps throwing them curveballs and it’s making Hotch feel out of control. Add worrying about Spencer to that and it’s a wonder he hasn’t snapped sooner.

Penelope settles grudgingly back beside Derek, who pokes her in the ribs to make her laugh, just before Hotch comes back in.

“Everybody up,” he orders, motioning the way out, “They’re coming to take Derek up to his room. We can all have a brief chat up there, then leave Derek to get some much needed rest, while you all do the same. Back at the hotel. Now move!”

“Hey boss, I’m not staying,” Derek chuckles, attempting to lessen the tension. “I don’t need to. I can rest anywhere, hell I can rest when we solve this case.”

Utterly unamused, Hotch motions again for everyone to get out, ignoring Derek’s comments.

“Let’s go. We'll talk upstairs.”

* * *

In a large private room one floor up, the team gets settled around Derek’s bed, Penelope still certain she’s getting fired, and everyone else too tired to worry about it.

Hotch settles himself by the door, leaning back on the wall, arms crossed looking even more serious than usual. The only person who looks comfortable is Dave; Derek’s eyes are still teary and blood shot, Kate hasn’t said a word, JJ’s brow is creased like she has a lot on her mind that she isn’t talking about.

“Ok you are all going to take a turn filling me in on everything that’s happened this afternoon, then I’ll tell you what we are going to do next. Then you’re going to do it, because I will not spend tonight worrying about who’s going to end up in the ER next and for what. Dave you go first, yours is short.”

“Well I spoke with the sheriff just before he got word that one of his men had been stabbed,” Dave shares, “he was here in the hospital to talk to Andy, following up on JJ and Kate’s talk with Benton. Short version is, Andy is gone, disappeared from his hospital bed, locals have an APB out, no sign of him so far.” Dave is succinct, then takes a seat in one of the chairs by the bed, and Derek thinks that he’s going to be happy to leave Salt Lake City where people seem to just disappear into thin air.

Hotch nods, then points at JJ. “You and Kate next.”

“Well we went to the scene with the locals after Derek’s call for back up. The scene being the back of the Appleby farm, which is bigger than we originally thought by the way. Still a small farm, but more like 300 acres than 75, much of it wooded. The woods down one side connects with the public use trails, and that is likely how she escaped tonight, after attacking Derek and the local officer.” JJ surmises, running down info received during exchanges with the local police. “Officer Gaertner was stabbed 3 times total, in the back, neck, and thigh.” JJ glances from Derek to Hotch as she says this, then continues. “He was pronounced dead after arriving at the hospital, but likely bled out from the wound to his neck at the scene.” No one misses the similarity to Spencer’s wounds, but no one mentions it either, Hotch passively listening without comment.

“Likely bled out from the neck wound?” Hotch questions, glancing at JJ.

“Not confirmed. We will need to talk to the M.E still,” JJ amends, then continues. “Officer Gaertner's ATV is missing, hasn’t been recovered yet, the locals tried tracking with dogs with no luck. Amelia’s truck, an ’84 Ford F 250 was on site but empty and wiped clean.”

Derek’s head snaps up at that, then he winces at the movement. “No, did you get the necklace? And the safe under the seat?”

JJ shakes her head slowly, “No, there was nothing there Derek.”

“Yes, there was. There was a necklace with a ring, it was hanging from the rear-view mirror. I put it back when I heard Gaertner and went to help. The safe was chained under the seat. No?” He’s watching JJ shake her head again.

“Ok,” Hotch has produced his tablet and he’s typing on it. “We can revisit that. Kate?” He doesn’t look up. “Anything to add?”

“No, JJ covered it.” She replies quietly, looking thoughtful.

“Penelope?”

Garcia is flustered, not expecting to be called on. “Oh-um, ya" she stammers, “Professor Green was able to identify all the plant species from the greenhouse. About twenty-nine in total, plus lots and lots of poppy seeds probably meant for growing and producing heroin. Not clear if that’s what she had been doing, there was no other paraphernalia on site.”

“About twenty-nine?” Hotch asks, raising an eyebrow as he types.

“Sir?” Garcia says.

“Is it twenty-nine species, or about twenty-nine Garcia?” He replies.

“Oh, uh, it’s twenty-nine sir. Including the poppy plants, sir.” She stammers, Derek reaching to squeeze her hand and shooting Hotch a dirty look that gets ignored.

“Great, let’s be specific. Derek that’s you up,” Hotch moves on, “are you able to do this? Or should we wait?”

“I'm fine. I’ll give you the highlights.” Derek responds. He doesn’t look fine, he’s squinting to see, the bruising and swelling to the side of his head obvious, but he goes ahead.

“Gaertner and I found the lane way and the barn from Benton’s description. The truck was parked behind the foundation and out of sight of anyone who might have stumbled on the place and pulled in. We cleared the area and I went to the truck, it was unlocked, there was nothing in it except the necklace and safe. I heard a thump from around the front, where Gaertner had gone to turn his truck around and off load the ATV and I went right away to check it out. I put the necklace back before I did. Fairly sure I left to door open too.” He tells them, “Gaertner was down when I got to him, he was bleeding bad, I went to the truck to radio for help and she was on me when I turned around. I swear I was careful, but I never heard a sound. She was just there.”

Hotch's face is looking more pinched now, and he asks, “you think you left the door open, or you did?”

“I did leave it open,” Derek responds tersely.

“Do you know what she hit you with?” Hotch does not acknowledge the attitude.

“A gun, I think. She had one pressed to the back of my neck. She told me she was going to leave me alive. She knew my name, Hotch. I think she knows who all of us are.” Penelope, sitting next to Derek on the bed, puts her head on his shoulder, looking disturbed by the conversation. Hotch appears to be thinking, and everyone else just watches and waits.

“You cleared the scene, so where was Amelia hiding?” Hotch asks.

“There was an entire wood, Hotch, I don’t know. We never let our guard down, but I swear we had no reason to think anyone else was there. I never heard her come up behind me, she obviously knows what she’s doing. I think she was there to take the truck and changed her mind when she found us there. She must have taken the necklace and safe though, after I was down.”

“Let’s stick with the facts for now.” Hotch says, voice monotone, typing away on his tablet.

“It is a fact Hotch!” Derek is getting annoyed, “she took the necklace. I swear it was an engagement ring on the chain, not a cheap one either. And the safe could have had anything in it.”

“Yes, it could, but we don’t know now.” Hotch replies.

Derek is fuming, but Penelope meets his eyes silently begging him not to start anything.

“You act like its my fault, Hotch.” Derek barely keeps his tone civil. “I went where I was told to go, I found the truck. What happened after is fucked up, but its not my fault.”

Raising his head to look directly at Derek, Hotch says coolly, “Who told you to go Morgan?”

There is a collective hush in the room as Derek and Hotch stare each other down. Derek doesn’t answer the question and Hotch doesn’t repeat it. Instead, his eyes sweep over everyone in the room, softening minutely, then back to Derek.

“This is all for my report to Cruz. I don’t suppose signing it “not my fault” will help me at all. I am trying to get an accurate and defensible picture of what has gone on so far, and its important because I have two agents in the hospital, a suspect at large, and not a lot of good news to send along with that.” Hotch tells him in a firm voice with just the hint of an edge.

“Anyone have anything to add for right now?” Hotch asks. Everyone shakes their heads, Derek grudgingly so.

“Ok, so for tonight no one is investigating, no one is pursuing Amelia, we are all going to get some sleep.” Hotch pushes off the wall so he’s standing straight. “Derek, you are staying here as per doctors’ orders.” Hotch holds up a hand to stave off Derek’s instant objection. “If the doctor clears you in the morning you can go back to work with us on the case. JJ, Kate, Penelope, and Dave, you can all head back to the hotel. No one works the case until I say so. Is that understood?”

No one is happy with this decree, though some are more unhappy than others.

“You can’t make me stay here Hotch.” Derek huffs, as Hotch is leaving the room. Sighing, he turns back.

“No, you can leave against medical advice, then I will suspend you, and book you a flight home.” Everyone looks up at that, glancing between Derek and Hotch, on edge waiting to see how far this will go. Hotch waits another minute before speaking again. “You need to rest Derek. And I need to know where everyone is tonight.”

Derek felt himself and his resolve soften at that. It was worry driving Hotch to throw his weight around, and that Derek could understand.

“S-sir,” Penelope spoke up before Hotch could leave. “Can I stay here with him? I’ll ask the nurse to bring a cot, the room is huge, and I swear I won’t go anywhere near my computers…” she trails off nervously.

Even Hotch can rarely resist indulging Garcia, and he nods. “I would rather you go to the hotel, but I won’t stop you from staying as long as you do not leave this hospital. I will check Garcia.” Then to everyone in the room, “go to the hotel, sleep, be back no earlier than 10 tomorrow morning. Spencer will hopefully be awake by then and I’m sure he will want to see you all looking well rested.”

Pausing in the doorway, Hotch turns one last time to face the room. “Anyone who cannot follow orders tonight will be heading home tomorrow. Understood?” There is nothing for anyone to do but nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful people! I hope you didn't think we had abandoned you! We would never do that! This chapter was, simply put, a beast to write. It just did not want to cooperate with us. After about a million re-writes we present to you another plotty chapter. I know I keep saying this, but I promise we will be moving things along quickly very, very soon. AND! We have delicious chapters coming up! I swear, some of the scenes are written and we can't wait for you to read them! You're going to love them! You just have to stick with us so that we can get there!
> 
> Congratulate us on getting this beast of a chapter out, please send us kudos and comments!
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> ~CC~


	14. Two Weeks

#### Chapter 14

### Two Weeks

Hotch is driving from the hotel back to the hospital thinking about what a difference two weeks makes, how some things change, and others stay exactly the same. They have made little headway in finding Amelia and closing the case, they have essentially exhausted all of their leads, and the locals are starting to get tetchy about the FBI involvement.

The team is tired, at times wary about continuing, and at others adamant that they are not leaving until they get some satisfaction for their efforts. JJ misses home, her husband and son, that much is obvious and Hotch worries she has lost her focus. Penelope is game to continue, driven by her need to succeed, to use her computer skills to fruition, and Hotch thinks also because of the bond she has formed with professor Green. Thinking of Derek’s reaction to Green makes Hotch smile in spite of himself, knowing he is invading Derek’s territory with his obvious crush on Garcia.

Hotch has worked to mend fences with Kate, who came under fire more than once in their rehashing’s of all that has gone wrong, but he has to admit the relationship has remained strained. In fact, he’s beginning to second guess both his decision to hire her, and her commitment to the job. Dave has been a big supporter of Kate, taking up for the underdog, saying that getting at each other will not help their cause; and while he might be right, Hotch isn’t sure what to do about where they currently stand.

Spencer is recovering, but it’s slower than he would like, and his frustration is making him moody. Some days he refuses to see anyone but Hotch, other days he throws Hotch out of his room, only to call him back embarrassed about needing him. Spencer is often too much for the nurses, throwing his credentials around, warning them that he is FBI and will have them arrested for various crimes, such as pulling out a catheter (that one Hotch sympathized with), asking him about his bowel movements, or poking at incisions. He continually reminds them that he is a doctor, and if anyone dares to mention that he has a PhD, not an MD, he is capable of throwing a tantrum to rival that of the most undisciplined child.

Today, the plan is to discuss Spencer’s release from hospital, though Hotch is not looking forward to it because he knows that they will be telling Spencer he needs to move to a rehabilitation center. This makes Hotch a little sad as well, but he is hoping to get him cleared to fly, so they can at least go back to Virginia as a team. If not, Hotch is fully prepared to stay in Salt Lake City until he can go home.

Entering Spencer’s room cautiously, because he is never sure of what his mood will be like, Hotch is met by Spencer sitting up, reading a file someone has brought him (Hotch will be looking into that), and looking amiable enough.

“Good morning,” Hotch greets. He comes baring a bag of books that Spencer requested, and that Garcia found online and had delivered, hoping they will butter the young agent up. “What are you reading?”

Spencer quickly snaps the file shut, tucking it under his leg on the bed, and smiling at Hotch. “Nothing. Did you bring me coffee?” He asks, noting the cup in Hotch’s hand.

“No, but I will if your doctor says you can have it. Do you want some of mine?” Hotch asks, figuring it can’t hurt at this point. Spencer is still on an all liquid diet, but they will wean him off that in the next couple days.

He hands the cup over to Spencer’s waiting hand, knowing he will wrinkle his nose and object to the lack of sugar.

“They say I can be discharged soon. It’s about time.” Spencer tells him.

“Yes, they want to talk about it today.” Hotch chooses his words carefully, “have you thought about what you want to do? You still can’t climb stairs and your apartment is a walk up.”

Spencer scowls. “I can figure it out. They just have to clear me to fly and I can go home right?”

Hotch is about to say it isn’t quite that simple but opts not to. Let the doctor tell him and incur his wrath instead.

Hotch shrugs and says, “the others are coming to talk over the case. Cruz wants us home if there are no new leads.”

“So, we just leave without finding her?” Spencer says, not offering Hotch his coffee back, but rather gesturing a little wildly with it.

Hotch sighs. “You just said you wanted to go home, Spencer.” He’s still watching his words. “Yes, we will go without finding her, but the team will still work the case. No one is just giving up ok?”

Spencer shrugs, and Hotch accepts that and changes the subject. “We do need to talk about options though. You have a lot of recovery ahead of you and- “

“I’m not going to a fucking rehab center!” Spencer cuts him off, and Hotch is taken aback by the vehemence of the response. Spencer rarely swears, and certainly not using that particular word.

Recovering quickly and using a soothing tone, Hotch tries again, “The doctor talked to you? I wanted him to wait for me because I wanted to offer- “

Cut off once more, Spencer tells him in a quieter voice that’s just as firm, “I said no. I meant it. I am not going to a…place like that. I will figure it out,” he repeats.

Spencer turns his head away, and it breaks Hotch’s heart that he is likely hiding tears. If he would just let Hotch talk, he was fairly sure he had a good solution. He waits a minute reaching for his coffee back, but Spencer pulls it out of his reach, making Hotch smile.

“Can I talk?” He asks. “Without you interrupting. Just give me a chance Spencer. Trust me to have your back.” He waits for an answer so that he doesn’t just get cut off again. After a few tense moments he gets a barely detectable nod.

“I was thinking that you could come and stay with me.” Hotch blurts it out fast enough that Spencer can’t get a word in, then continues without waiting for a response. “I can convert my office into a bedroom, it’s on the main floor. I’ll even leave my books in it. I know how much you love my law books.” He watches Spencer, who is keeping his eyes averted, but he thinks he sees his lips twitch. “I have lots of vacation time, so we can stay home and watch bad tv for a couple weeks, then when you’re ready, we can both go back to work. What do you say?”

There is a long silence, Hotch doesn’t want to force Spencer to choose, but he wishes he had his coffee to sip and give his hands something to do. The minutes tick by and finally Spencer says, so quietly Hotch can barely hear, “you don’t have to do that.”

Hotch thinks about his response to that. No, he doesn’t have to, but he certainly doesn’t mind. He is so grateful that Spencer is alive that he would do anything to facilitate his full recovery. His guilt about the situation isn’t a driving force behind the offer, but it is there too. He would like to make things right, but all Spencer needs to know is that he’s welcome.

“No, I don’t.” Hotch replies. “I would really like to though.”

“I want to work.” Spencer says.

“You can consult, work cold cases maybe, but you need to put your effort into your recovery.” Hotch is adamant that Spencer won’t be returning to the field anytime soon.  
Spencer tenses, and Hotch knows he’s getting mad. The apparently mild-mannered doctor dislikes being limited, hates feeling helpless and dependent, and lashes out when anyone appears to be telling him what to do. From a psychological standpoint Hotch believes it comes from a lifetime of taking care of himself, and not having an authority figure he could count on. He talked to the team about offering Spencer a place to stay, and they had all agreed Hotch’s place was the best option. JJ had a lot on her plate, and was a bit of a pushover where Spencer was concerned, Penelope was double the pushover and didn’t have the space, Derek didn’t have the vacation time, and they all thought no one would get a better result than Hotch.

“What about Jack?” Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes on Hotch, taking a long drink from the coffee he’s still holding. “This needs more sugar Hotch.”

Snorting at the deflection, Hotch says, “Jack would love to have you around. There’s a science fair coming up at school and he figures that he’s got first place in the bag with your help.”

That makes Spencer smile. “I did win the science fair every year when I was in elementary school,” he reminds Hotch.

“Think about it Spencer. It’s about what you want. Don’t come up with reasons not to, I wouldn’t have offered if it weren’t feasible for Jack and I.” Hotch tells him gently.

“You don’t want to take me to the bathroom, make me food, and clean up after me Aaron.” Spencer says, attempting to undo the progress they just made.

“Don’t tell me what I want Spencer.” Hotch replies. “I didn’t make the offer without knowing what it meant.”

“Think about it. The offer stands until you’re ready to accept.” Hotch says with a fond smile. “Now, can I have my coffee back? I’ll trade you for this bag of books.”

* * *

Derek and JJ were back at the barn trying, like the rest of the team, to make an old lead into a new one. The truck had been towed, but they were now trying to find a visible path that Amelia could have taken to escape so effectively. The woods the barn sat in connected on one side to a mess of trails used for hiking, ATV’s and even horseback riding. They led up into the mountains where people did backcountry camping, and it was easy to imagine that you could lose yourself for days in them. He had no doubt that Amelia had made sure she knew the trails backwards, forwards and in the dark. The woman must be a mastermind, because at the moment she had them beat.

Scuffing at the ground angrily, Derek curses. “Damn it JJ! If we can’t find anything to go on then Cruz is gonna call us back. And then what? We just never know what happened to her?”

“I’m worried that’s best-case Derek,” JJ answers. “She’s a psychopath, who knows what she’s going to do now? I think we have only seen a small piece of what she’s capable of.”

Derek picks up a rock at his feet and whips it into the bush. There is no sign that she came through these trails, no sign of her anywhere. No sign of Andy either, and where does an inexperienced eighteen-year-old kid with a gunshot wound hide from the FBI?

“So, what now JJ?”

JJ sighs because she really doesn’t know how to answer that. She is just as upset, just as frustrated, and she wants an end to this as much as everyone else, but she has no idea how to make it happen. The bureau won’t support them staying here indefinitely, not when there are other cases they have a better shot at solving. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but it isn’t the first time it’s been their reality.

“I just don’t know Derek. We could talk to Professor Green again? Maybe he could tell us something more about the drop sites?” She suggests.

“We went to the drop sites already and they were completely secluded. If it was even her he was buying from. We can’t be certain.” Derek responds angrily. “We can’t be certain of anything lately.”

“I’m sorry, Derek I don’t know what else we can do.” JJ sighs, looking around her and thinking. “What if we try talking to Benton again? Maybe he can help us find Andy if nothing else?”

“I guess it’s worth a try. After you.” Derek’s turn to sigh as he turns to let JJ precede him back down the path.

* * *

The effort to find new leads in the Amelia Porter case was starting to haunt Dave even in his dreams. Everywhere they turned was a dead end, there were zero sightings of either Amelia, or now Andy and he knew they were going to be called back to Virginia soon. The locals were growing impatient with the lack of progress and becoming less accommodating by the day, using the FBI as their scapegoat in the absence of a suspect to prosecute.

Grasping at straws, Rossi and Callahan were heading out to interview Rebecca Farland on the off chance she could tell them where Andy was. She had been moved out of police protective custody three days ago, when the locals decided that chances were high Amelia had left town. Dave wasn’t quite as sure, but he also didn’t think Amelia would risk detection to get to the girl, so he didn’t voice any objections.

Rebecca was staying with her best friends’ family only a few blocks from her Grandpa’s house, and the overtaxed social services system seemed content with the arrangement. Placements for sixteen-year-old girls were limited, and the hope was that she would be able to reunite with her brother at some point. It was a nice house, complete with manicured lawn, well maintained flower beds and a golden retriever lying on the porch.

“Almost too good to be true,” Dave says to Kate as they get out of the car and approach the front door.

“Yep,” Kate returns. “Some people have it all, and some get nothing.”

Dave wonders if she’s referring to the Farland kids or herself but shrugs, because the door is being opened by an average looking middle aged woman who stands aside to allow them into the house.

They are shown to a sitting room, offered coffee which Dave gratefully accepts, and told Rebecca will be down in a minute. Dave is pretty sure that at some point Andy will try to contact his sister if he hasn’t already. They seemed to be close at the hospital, as siblings who have lost their parents tend to be. Rebecca, as the younger sibling, likely relies on him, and Dave wonders if she will be far too loyal to share anything she might know.

He stands to greet Rebecca when she enters the room, she shakes his hand and embraces Kate, which Dave thinks is a good start. The rapport with Callahan can only help them.

“I don’t know how I can help,” Rebecca starts without being asked, taking a seat across from them on a loveseat. She looks worn and sad, but there’s no reason she wouldn’t be. It  
hasn’t been long since she kidnapped by her uncle, saw him kill her Grandpa, and now her brother was missing. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to.”

“Rebecca, do you know why Andy would run?” Kate asks gently, leaning forward and making eye contact with the girl.

“I don’t know.” Rebecca says, looking down and playing with a bracelet on her wrist. “I thought we would live together. He’s all I have.” She wipes at the tears coming to her eyes, and Dave feels like a total jerk coming here to poke at wounds that haven’t had a chance to heal yet. “I keep hoping he will come back, or that you guys will find him. Do you think he’s ok?”

Kate and Dave exchange glances. “We have no reason to believe he’s not, honey,” Kate tells her. “We are doing our best to find him and bring him home. Can you think of anything you could tell us that might help?”

“Like what?” Rebecca asks. “He only had a few close friends and none of them have seen him. I gave their names to the police when they asked me.”

“Did he have a girlfriend?” Kate asks, “is there anyone he might ask to take him in?”

“I don’t think he had a girlfriend,” Rebecca appears to be thinking the question over. “He didn’t tell me if he did. But he had been…I don’t know, different lately. He didn’t always tell me where he was going, and he would fight with Grandpa but neither of them told me what about.”

“How long had that been going on?” Dave chimes in.

“Awhile I guess,” she says. “He didn’t want to play any sports anymore, and he didn’t seem that excited about senior year. I don’t know.” She sits up straight suddenly. “You guys are better at this right? Finding people?” Rebecca blurts out before Dave can continue. “Than the regular police I mean. I thought that, well, if I talked to you…” she trails off as if she isn’t sure exactly what she thought.

“We have a special skill set,” Dave says carefully. “We are going to do our best to find him Rebecca. Truly, we are.”

“That lady, Amelia, the one that Benton went to see when he…” she stops herself, clearly not keen on remembering that time. “They told me she was gone. Did you just let her go?”

“No, we didn’t.” Dave answers honestly. “But we don’t believe she wants to hurt you.”

Rebecca’s brow furrows and she’s quiet for a minute. “But she was the one that killed my mom? They never really wanted me to know about it, but I heard stuff.” Dave stays quiet because it seems important to her to say this. “He wanted her to tell me that he didn’t do it. That he didn’t kill my mom. Is that true?”

Kate catches his eye and raises an eyebrow. What do they say to that?

“We still aren’t sure Rebecca. We know Benton, your Uncle, was involved, and that he wasn’t blameless. We also know there was a time when he loved your mother very much. I wish I could tell you more than that.” Dave tells her honestly.

Rebecca is looking down at her hands again. He really does feel for this kid who didn’t ask for any of this.

“She wanted to kill him.” Rebecca says it so softly Dave almost doesn’t catch it. “She would have if you hadn’t come I think. I don’t know if I said that before, but it’s true.”

“Rebecca,” Kate says, and waits for the girl to look up. “Is there anything else? Anything at all?”

It takes a time but finally Rebecca sighs and says, “No I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”

* * *

Penelope Garcia believes in her skills, she is a finder and keeper of information; encrypted, encoded, hidden so deep no one is ever supposed to be able to ferret it out, Garcia recovers details that would stay buried if she weren’t so damn good! That said, this case was testing her patience along with her abilities, as she hit wall after wall in the search for anything that might bring them closer to Amelia Porter.

Back to working from her makeshift command center in the hospital boardroom, Penelope has been electronically following any and all leads, no matter how small, that they have on Amelia Porter; but every single one has ended with her no further ahead. She is beginning to think that Amelia Porter flies under the radar by having little to do with the technological world, keeping to herself, keeping off grid, and doing whatever she does for some reason other than glory.

Tracing Amelia’s parents is easy to a point, for all appearances they were a lovely couple who lived a full life, loving the outdoors and adventure, right up until their untimely death aboard Air Midwest Flight 5184 in 2003, shortly after their daughter’s flight from justice. Garcia could only guess what they would have thought of their daughter’s involvement in Miriam Farlands’ rape and murder, or her relationship with Benton Farland, because she could not locate any police interview with them, or social media accounts containing more than vacation photos.

Cole Rainville does offer up some interesting info. Besides being potent eye candy, he is also owner of a gym and martial arts training center, winner of multiple marital arts competitions, and member of the International Combat Association. Despite having mad skills in the combat arena, he appears to be an all-round nice guy, volunteering his time to lead youth wilderness hikes and camping trips. He was only semi cooperative with local police when questioned, identifying Amelia Porter as his Sarah Ward from a photo, but describing his girlfriend as a quiet nature lover, who was shy, staying away from crowds but enjoying an active, outdoorsy lifestyle, loner style. He adamantly refused to listen to the charges against Amelia Porter, stating that he didn’t care, that wasn’t the woman he had known.

Busy compiling what little she was able to learn into a file to send to everyone’s tablets, Penelope was paying no attention to her surroundings, and was startled out of skin when her slightly scary boss, Aaron Hotchner, put a hand on her shoulder.

“Gah!” She shouts, placing a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart, before immediately apologizing to the man she seemed to constantly embarrass herself in front of.

“So sorry, boss!” She squeaks, hurrying to contain the small coffee spill that being scared out of her wits had unleashed, at the same time as trying to direct her full attention to her superior. “Just give me one second and I will be at you service sir!”

“Please Garcia, you’re fine,” Hotch smiles, a rare occurrence at the best of times, and these were not the best of times. “Relax. I just came to ask if you would like to sit with Spencer for a bit? I thought I could go get lunch for the three of us. Spencer is allowed to try real food today.”

“Oh! Yes, of course, anything you need.” Penelope stammers, trying desperately to sound slightly less chaotic. “I can go get lunch if you like. Oh, wow, I didn’t realize what time it is. I should have offered sooner!”

“That’s ok. You have a role on this team, and it isn’t to run errands Garcia.” Hotch tells her firmly. “Please, take a break and go visit with Spencer. He would like to see you, and I could use the fresh air. Enjoy yourself,” he adds, turning to go, but before he does, “he probably wants to thank you for that file you gave him.”

Groaning, Penelope gathers her stuff muttering under her breath about know it all bosses who notice everything, before closing up the board room and making her way to Spencer.

* * *

Visiting prison is always an experience, and not one JJ ever looks forward to. It doesn’t seem to matter that you aren’t incarcerated, the general feeling of despair seems to permeate everything, and affect everyone regardless.

Trying to shrug off the feeling as they wait in a tiny, non-descript cement room, JJ turns to Derek, “what are we here to ask him? I believe he told us what he knows. Maybe we shouldn’t have come.”

“Maybe, but its not like he has anything better to do right?” Derek gives lightening the mood a shot.

“Funny,” JJ rolls her eyes. “I was serious though. Why did I think this was a good idea? Have we been at this case so long that we are asking the same questions, to the same people, hoping for a different response? That’s insanity Derek.”

“Geez JJ,” Derek nudges her shoulder. “Aren’t you usually the optimistic one?”

JJ laughs in spite of herself. “No, I think you’re confusing me with Penelope.”

They are still laughing and trying to decide if Rossi counts as an optimist, and if Spencer’s sobering facts count as pessimism or realism, when the Warden buzzes into the room. His facial expression instantly puts JJ on edge because he looks nervous, and that’s not a good look for a Warden.

“Agents,” the Warden greets them. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news today. Benton Farland was taken to the medical bay this morning complaining of nausea and chest pain. He was treated there but he went downhill fast, so an ambulance was called. He was being transported but died on route to the hospital.”

Stunned Derek tries to formulate a response, or a question that makes sense, but JJ beats him to it.

“Why was the FBI not informed?” JJ snaps. “Farland was a witness in an active investigation!”

“I apologize, Agent,” the Warden hurries to appease her. “It only happened a couple hours ago. The FBI would certainly be on the list of notifications.”

“Well that’s great. I’m glad we would have been on the list.” JJ responds curtly. “Has the body been sent to the M.E yet?”

“He was taken to the hospital so it will be sent from there. Please, you have my sincerest apologies for any inconvenience.” The Warden does appear to be sorry, though possibly more because the prison and his job may be about to come under fire than because of Benton Farlands untimely death.

“Great Warden.” JJ says, getting ready to storm out. “You will be hearing from us. You can count on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! See, told you we'd get back on track! Only 2 days between chapters now and we jumped a little to get the story moving, unfortunately it didn't help the team get any closer to Amelia... Poor team... 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, we got out of the hospital a little more, one foot out the door as it were, hopefully we can get out before something else goes wrong! :0 Haha! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated! We love all of your fantastic feedback!
> 
> If you can't wait to 'see' poor Spence out of the hospital, be sure to subscribe to get notified when a we post a new chapter!
> 
> ~CC~


	15. Destructive Force

#### Chapter 15

### Destructive Force

Derek had to admit that when they called Hotch to give him the news that Benton was dead, he hoped it would buy them some more time on the case. It was Thursday afternoon, weekend fast approaching, which might slow the ME report depending on how diligent the staff were around here; and Derek thought they should wait for that, and Spencer’s official release from hospital. Hotch told them that he would talk to Cruz and see what he could do, but not to get their hopes up because as mild mannered as Cruz was, he had his limits.

Callahan and Rossi were already back at the hospital when JJ and Derek arrived, Penelope had stayed to work her magic on her collection of computers, and they were all assembled in the borrowed boardroom including Hotch who was usually with Spencer these days.

Looking up when they came in Hotch nods to Derek and motions them to sit. “I was just about to reiterate my conversation with Cruz, then we can all go over what everyone’s been up to today.” Hotch tells them, waiting for everyone to find a seat and get comfortable. “New cases are building up back at home that need BAU attention, so Cruz will not agree to extend our time here any longer. Flight plan is approved for tomorrow, wheels up at 11 a.m, and everyone is expected to be on it.”

Hotch breaks the news without giving away his personal feelings on the issue, and then continues. “Unfortunately, due to a low-grade fever, and some seepage from the wound on his thigh, Spencer may not be discharged to fly home tomorrow.”

It is obvious that Hotch does not feel good about this turn of events, and neither does anyone else in the room. Penelope and JJ are both near tears, Kate looks uncomfortable, Rossi gives nothing away as usual and Derek is once again infuriated.

“Oh, hell no!” Derek states firmly. “Cruz can take the jet, throw us off the case, but he can’t make us leave Spencer behind.”

Hotch sighs. “He can Derek. We work for the bureau; we go where they tell us to.”

“Bull!” Derek cries. “Spencer is only in the hospital because he was doing his job for the bureau and now they expect us to abandon him?”

“Calm down!” Hotch snaps. He isn’t in the mood to be berated from all sides. Cruz already took a round out of him for being here as long as they have, and he was told any further attempts to prolong the stay would be considered a serious misuse of FBI resources. “We don’t know anything for sure yet, we won’t until tomorrow morning. We just have to wait and see.”

“And you’re ok with that?” Derek asks, incredulous.

“Derek, give him a break,” Rossi cuts in. “For now, let’s talk about today and hope that tomorrow Spencer is clear to fly and it’s not an issue at all. Should I start?”

“Are we going to move to Spencer’s room so he can here all this?” JJ asks. “He wont like being left out.”

“He didn’t take the news about a possible delay in his release very well. He’s angry and asked to be left alone.” Hotch answers with a grimace. “I think we should go ahead and fill him in when he’s feeling more like himself.”

JJ winces and nods. “Can we go first then?” She asks, looking to Rossi, who gestures his consent.

“Derek and I drove over to the Utah State Prison where Benton Farland is being held on remand,” she starts, “we wanted to take one last shot at him, see if there was anything else of interest he could give us.”

She looks to Derek, and he chimes in, “we weren’t stopped at the door or anything, we were shown into a visiting room. Waited awhile, then the warden came in and told us Benton had died this morning.”

Everyone except Hotch was thrown for the same loop he and JJ had been when they heard.

“He was what? Twenty-nine?” Kate asks. “What happened?”

“Twenty-nine, yes, no known health issues. There isn’t even an initial report from the M.E yet, the sheriff will let us know when one comes in.” JJ answers.

“Well crap,” Penelope says, “this is just one thing after another.”

Derek drapes an arm around her. “The warden wasn’t alluding to any foul play, he said that Benton was taken to medical complaining of nausea and chest pains. Said he got worse fast and they sent him to the hospital, but he never made it.”

“Hasn’t been back in prison very long. You wouldn’t think he’d had time to make any real enemies yet.” Rossi puts in. “But he’s awfully young for a heart attack.”

“Did you ask for the visitors log? Had anyone else been there to see him?” Hotch asks.

“I can access that online, just let me get set up.” Penelope offers getting up to head over to her computer when Derek shakes his head.

“In the meantime, what have you got for us Dave?” Hotch turns to where Rossi is sitting.

“Kate and I talked to Rebecca. She didn’t have anything concrete to offer, but what she had to say was interesting all the same.” Rossi leans forward in his chair, “she asked us about Amelia, asked if we let her go. She seemed concerned, scared, said that she thought if we hadn’t come Amelia would have killed Benton.”

“Benton told us that when we interviewed him,” Kate looks to JJ, “but Rebecca had never confirmed it in previous police interviews. She told us that Benton took her there because he wanted Amelia to tell her that he didn’t kill her mother. It may not change anything, but Benton did tell the truth.”

“Benton also said that Andy had been meeting Amelia at the farm. Do we think that when Andy ran he went to Amelia? That the two were still in touch?” Rossi concludes.

“Well if that’s the case Amelia may be nearby!” Garcia shouts excitedly from behind her computer, “the only visitor Benton Farland had in his short second stay at the prison, besides his lawyer 3 days ago, was Andy Farland and he visited this morning just after nine.”

* * *

Spencer admits that he’s angry, he wants to leave this hospital, be useful at his job again, but they constantly have more hurdles for him to clear if he wants to make it out; this time it was a nearly nonexistent fever, and what they were calling “seepage” from the wound in his leg. Body temperatures are known to fluctuate throughout the day, and some people have consistently higher temps than others, so Spencer could not fathom why these supposed professionals insisted on using an entirely inaccurate measure to make decisions about his life!

That was all he had said to the nurse earlier and Hotch had told him that his attitude wasn’t helping and that he should show some respect to the people who were trying to take care of him. He told Hotch he would do that when they sent a non-alarmist who was aware that blood seeping from a six-inch gash was going to happen.  
Now he regrets being rude, at least to Hotch, because he’s sure the others are back by now and talking about the case and any new information without him. He could send a nurse to find Hotch or use his cell to text him, but he hates admitting that he is uncomfortable being alone since Amelia’s attack.

These last fifteen days have been grueling, constant pain, every part of his body aching, stinging, or burning in some way, plus the humiliation of having no privacy and people prodding the sorest parts of him constantly. He wants to work the case, but at the same time it is hitting him hard that their leads are drying up and Amelia is eluding them at every turn. The news that she had ambushed Derek and killed a local officer made him feel unsafe even here, surrounded by nurses checking on him hourly. The only time he feels ok is when Aaron is here, making conversation, listening to him talk about the books he’s reading, or even sleeping in the chair by his bed.

He hasn’t admitted how much he remembers about Amelia’s attack, the things she said, and he hasn’t told Aaron what he remembers about after, when they were waiting for the ambulance. He isn’t at all sure why he feels the way he does about those minutes, when he didn’t know if he would survive, and Aaron was there to reassure him. He knows he said things he should never have said out loud, and that Aaron likely doesn’t even think about the things he himself said anymore, but Spencer isn’t capable of forgetting them…I want to listen to you talk for a lifetime…

Hotch has always listened to him, taken him seriously, never cut him off or made fun of him, as other people are prone to doing. He has mentored him and made him into a true FBI agent, not just a talented kid who can lend his memory and mapping skills to an investigation. Spencer has nothing but respect for him and just now he threw him out of his room and told him he didn’t want him, which was a lie. He needed him, right now, because it was hard to breathe when he thought about the team leaving and being left alone here for God knows how long, having nightmares every night about Amelia, the case, being left behind because he isn’t useful anymore…It’s so hot suddenly, his head aches and he can’t take a deep enough breath to stop feeling like he’s drowning. He needs to call the nurse, but he can’t find the button, and he would like Aaron to come back even if he were rude, because surely they’ve known each other long enough that he can understand he didn’t mean it!

Before he can work himself up any further, there are hands on his shoulders, holding firmly but carefully, easing him forward a little, telling him to breath slowly…in 1, 2, 3, 4…hold, then out 1, 2, 3, 4. He didn’t even know his eyes were closed until he opens them, and Aaron is sitting on the bed beside his good leg, hands steadying him, talking to a nurse in the room who is adjusting one of the many monitors.

“You’re ok, Spencer. Are you listening to me?” Hotch’s voice, slightly stern, cutting through his thoughts saying the words that had fast become their mantra. “You’re ok.” He lets Spencer lean into him, it’s almost a hug, giving his good arm a reassuring squeeze.

“You left.” Spencer whispers, realizing how short of breath he is.

Hotch chuckles softly, “Everything is ok. I didn’t leave Spencer. I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

Hotch was called away by one of the nurses before they could fully finish the conversation about Rebecca and Benton, and Derek did not understand how they could still be thinking about going home with the new theory that Andy had run away to meet Amelia. That meant she was still right here in Salt Lake City and there was no way in hell they should be leaving. He said as much to the others after Hotch left the room.

“Hotch will let Cruz know, but I have a feeling it won’t change anything.” Rossi says. “We still can’t find her. There hasn’t even been any sightings from the public.”

“Andy was right there at the prison!” Derek cries, frustration making him irritable.

“Yes, and where is he now Derek?” Rossi asks.

“There is an APB out for Andy, the prison didn’t catch that? They screen the visitors right?” Callahan asks, breaking in on the mounting tension.

“Absolutely, pretty rigorously too,” Penelope answers from behind her computer. “But it seems like he was on the list from Benton’s last prison stay so they just let him through.”

“Great,” this from Derek, still disgruntled.

“Come and look,” Garcia says, motioning them all over. “This is the footage of the visitors doors. I think that’s Andy right there.” She pauses the video on a dark-haired young man making his way through security.

“That’s him,” JJ confirms.

“We have no footage of the parking lot because he came in on one of the visitor buses, but we do have an image of him leaving just before 10. He wasn’t there long.” Garcia informs, staring at her screen. “What time was Benton taken to medical?”

“I’m not sure but I think around 11. We were at the prison by 4 and he was already in the morgue.” Derek supplies grimly.

“Ok we need to add to our profile of Amelia and start one on Andy.” JJ says, “Give Hotch something to take to Cruz right?”

“Sounds good,” Rossi says, “but then we go back to the hotel to pack.”

* * *

By the next morning they had their profile, had given it to Hotch, he had presented it to Cruz, and they were still heading home in a few hours. Hotch had asked them all to meet in Spencer’s room at 8 am to finalize the report that would be filed, unfinished, before they got on the plane with no answers. There was more to do here, Derek was adamant, but Cruz believed it was up to the locals to continue the hunt for Andy and Amelia and keep the FBI informed of any progress; of course, they were under no obligation to do so, and Derek wondered about the hard feelings that came with the unsolved murder of one of their own.

Derek and Penelope were the first to arrive at Spencer’s room, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking somewhat forlorn, Hotch nowhere to be seen.

“Hey pretty boy,” Derek greets him, offering him a high five. “This is the first time I’ve seen you sit up since you got here. Looking good!”

“Should you be sitting like that?” Penelope frets, moving in close to give him a half hug.

“Where’s the boss man, kid?” Derek asks.

“He went to call Cruz,” Spencer glances nervously at the door, then back to Derek. “He was going to help me get dressed, but maybe you could?”

Derek thinks its an odd request, Spencer hasn’t been keen on anyone offering help yet. Still, Derek assumes he’s not going to go home in that gown, so he shrugs. “Sure kid.”  
Penelope excuses herself to wait in the hall, and Derek looks around for clothes, spotting Spencer’s go bag and scooping it up.

“We have to be quick,” Spencer says, reaching for the bag and rifling through it to produce pajama pants. “I don’t think I can handle my work pants, but this will do right? Hurry, if you can just help me get my feet in and stand up.”

Derek wonders about the rush, glancing at the door where Spencer’s eyes keep going. “I guess. Do you want me to grab sweats from my bag? They’ll be big but you can pull the draw string tight.”

“Uh, no time.” Spencer says, thrusting the pajama pants into Derek’s hands.

Confused Derek points out, “the plane isn’t leaving until 11, kid.”

Spencer clenches his fist, then relaxes it and forces a smile. “I know but I don’t move very fast right now. What was Hotch talking to Cruz about? It seemed pretty heated.” Clear change of subject but Derek shrugs it off.

“None of us want to give up on this case Spencer,” Derek says leaning down to pull the pants over Spencer’s feet, causing him to hiss. “Sorry, I’ll go slower.”

“No, its fine, hurry.” Spencer tells him. Derek shakes his head, trying to figure the boy wonder out, but carefully working the pants up his legs as he did. He couldn’t help his eyes being drawn to the impressive incision on his thigh, the first time Derek has seen it up close. It doesn’t appear to be as scabbed over as Derek would expect, but he was not a doctor. Standing, he offers Spencer a hand to get up.

“Um, if I lean on you can you pull them all the way up?” Spencer gestures to the pants. “It’s tricky with only one hand” he explains.

Derek lets Spencer lean heavily into him, and even then it’s awkward because he is putting no weight on one leg and can only grip with one hand. On top of that Derek has to be careful not to rub against the thigh wound so the logistics are nearly impossible. He needs another set of hands.

“Maybe we should wait for Hotch, man.” Derek suggests. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No!” Spencer nearly shouts in Derek’s ear. “I mean, I want to be ready to go.”

Something is definitely off, but Derek manages to get the pants on and sit Spencer back down, working the gown off, and replacing it with a t shirt, no easy task with Spencer unable to life one arm and the injury to his neck painfully visible.

“How did you guys make out with the profile?” Spencer asks, wincing as he adjusts himself on the bed. “I didn’t get to hear last night.” Spencer had fallen asleep before they wrapped things up.

“Come back in PG!” Derek calls to Penelope. “Penelope brought the paper file. We know how you feel about the tablet.” Derek grins.

Coming back into the room, Penelope squeals. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in your pjs! So cute!” She hugs Spencer again and kisses his forehead. His cheeks are pink with embarrassment and Derek can’t help but laugh. She hands over the file they brought, and Spencer opens it to read, which will take him seconds Derek guesses.

“We did get the preliminary report from the M.E and suspected cause of death is cardiac arrest. Toxicology report isn’t back yet, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out something isn’t right.” Derek tells Spencer, eyeing the younger agent as he reads.

“I’m glad you’re going to be flying with us,” Derek says slowly. “None of us wanted to leave here without you.”

“What?” Spencer says, closing the file and looking at the door again. “Right, it will be really good to get out of here.”

“I was so worried!” Garcia gushes, “I told them I would gladly stay here with you. I can do my job from anywhere. But having you come home is just the best Spencer!”

“Are we all going to meet downstairs?” Spencer asks. “Maybe one of you can get a wheelchair? Walking down probably isn’t an option for me yet.”

“We are all meeting here, so sit tight.” Derek returns. “Hotch will be back any minute.”

“I think we should go down to the lobby. You can text Hotch and he can meet us there.” Spencer bargains.

“Oh, sure honey,” Penelope answers him. “Just let me grab all your stuff.” Derek puts a hand out to stop her.

“Let’s wait,” Derek smiles at her. “Hotch told everyone to meet here, we might as well hang out until everyone gets here.” Derek is still not sure why Spencer is in such a hurry, but there’s no way that its that easy to walk out of the hospital after two surgeries.

Spencer doesn’t get to respond because Hotch arrives, stopping in the doorway to survey the scene in the room. “What’s going on?” He asks, clearly directing the question at Spencer.

Crossing his good arm over his chest, Spencer lifts his chin and responds with admirable confidence, “I’m getting ready to leave. Derek was helping.”

Derek groans internally, but JJ, Rossi and Callahan are right behind Hotch so there’s no time to discuss before coffee is being handed out and everyone is making themselves comfortable to talk about their next steps.

* * *

Hotch keeps an eye on Spencer as he breaks it to the team that he could not change Cruz’ mind, not even with the news of Benton’s untimely death, or Andy’s reappearance at the prison. He was firm that the team was needed elsewhere, and that the locals would have to take it from here. He did concede that if anything new came up they could revaluate, but for now they were moving on.

“Do you want to tell them?” Hotch asks, after finishing the run down on his conversation with Cruz. “Or should I?”

Spencer is stubbornly silent, downcast, and sullen. Taking this for an answer, Hotch forges on. “I’m not sure what he told you,” Hotch raises an eyebrow looking at Penelope and Derek, “but Spencer will not be discharged today, and he is not cleared to travel yet so we will all need to say our temporary good byes here.”

Hotch is not oblivious to the fact that Spencer is out of the hospital gown, and most likely planning to leave against medical advice, and he wonders how he will take what he has to say next.

“There is some good news, Cruz has agreed to me taking leave, so I’ll be staying here as well.” Hotch announces to the team. “And until the official paperwork is signed, I will still be able to follow up leads in the field and liaise with the local PD in an official capacity.”

No one feels good about what’s happening, and having Hotch stay behind is comforting on one hand, but on the other they will have to function without their chief, the backbone of their team.

“Ok,” Hotch says, calling everyone’s attention back to him. “Let’s go over the case one more time before you need to be on your way.”

* * *

By the time the team left to catch their plane they had a profile of Andy that Hotch would present to the locals, and they had added to their profile of Amelia which was ever evolving. If she was using Andy, engaging in a relationship with him, he may be the reason she was sticking around, but what purpose was he serving? It seems that Amelia uses simplicity as a weapon, maintaining no ties to the outside world, but if she is a narcissist, she would be using young men like Andy to satisfy her need to for attention and control. However, in her current situation a relationship would be risky and Hotch would expect her to cut and run, so if she’s still here then why?

Left alone together, Spencer claimed he was very tired suddenly and asked Hotch to help him get back in bed. Even moving from sitting on the edge to lying down was a challenge, and Hotch knew asking for help was hard for the young agent who only wanted to be seen as competent.

Bending to carefully to lift Spencer’s legs up, Hotch asks, “did you really think you could leave, and I wouldn’t notice?” He tries to keep his tone light; he really is curious what the plan was.

Spencer doesn’t want to make eye contact as Hotch leans over him to slide him back on the bed, so he is once again semi reclined and covered with the fuzziest blue blanket Hotch had ever seen courtesy of Garcia.

“I would have been here all alone, Aaron.” Spencer replies.

“I said I wasn’t going anywhere. You thought I lied?” Hotch gives him a serious look.

“No, I guess not.” Spencer admits. “Can I leave my pajamas on? You’re not going to make me put that awful gown back on, are you?” He changes the subject.

Hotch snorts. “Could I make you?”

He can tell Spencer is holding back a smile at that. “Sleep,” Hotch tells him. “I’ll stay right here and work on the paperwork.”

* * *

The team was in the air and most of the way home, Spencer had been asleep for hours, Hotch was finished his paperwork and dozing in his chair when his phone rang.

Answering quickly so as not to disturb Spencer, he greets the local sheriff, moving to the hall to talk.

“I wasn’t sure if you and your people had left yet, I’m glad I caught you.” Hotch can hear the weariness in the sheriff’s voice and knows his news won’t be good. “Andy Farland turned up and I said I would keep you informed. Plus, I think we could use your help,” there is a pause, and Hotch waits while the other man sucks in his breath and lets it out slowly. “Andy Farland is dead, and so is Rebecca.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahahahahahaha! Apparenty TC and I like killing off random secondary, case related characters, isn't that fun? They're all very mysterious deaths right now, also fun! 
> 
> Please let us know how much you enjoy our brand of fun by leaving kudos and comments!
> 
> If you would like to be the first to solve the mysterious deaths, be sure to subscribe to be notified when we update! 
> 
> ~CC~


	16. Cleaning House

#### Chapter 16

### Cleaning House

For the second time in three weeks the Farland home has been turned into a crime scene, cordoned off, surrounded by police cars and forensics vans. Getting out of his SUV, Hotch surveys the scene on his way to the front door, two officers stepping aside to allow him through as he flashes his badge. Inside, the sheriff waves him over to where he is standing in the living room, looking down at Andy Farlands body.

There is a melancholy feel in the room and an underlying tension from the sheriff, who Hotch is sure wants to see the tail end of this case as much as he does.

Offering a distracted greeting, the sheriff launches right into the rundown of what they know. “Clearly Andy here was stabbed in the neck. Coroner guesses that the artery was severed, and he bled out in minutes. Nothing official until we transport the bodies though.”

Hotch had requested the bodies not be moved before he got there and Andy lay on his back, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling, so much blood under him that it had soaked the carpet and continued to pool. Even after all his years in the FBI scenes like this gave him pause, thinking about the damage human beings are willing to inflict on one another.

Moving to Rebecca, lying a few feet away beside the coffee table that is still laden with empty glasses and textbooks, he looks up at the sheriff. “Gunshot to her chest, but there’s a head wound too. Looks like she hit it on the corner of the table.”

Nodding the sheriff tells him, “noticed that but damned if I can unravel what went on here. We haven’t found a gun or any other weapon.”

There was someone else here then, Hotch knows. A family dispute gone wrong was certainly not unheard of, or even uncommon, but there had to be more to this. Standing up and looking around him he tries to recreate the scene in his mind, but he is missing some information.

“Did Andy reach out to Rebecca? Was it him who asked her to meet here?” Hotch asks the sheriff.

“He texted her from a burner phone. Her cell was on her when we found the bodies, it was taken into evidence.”

“What did the text say?” Hotch pursues.

“Said it was Andy and asked her to meet him at “the old house” after school. She texted back a few times, asking if it were really him, was he ok, and then yes, she would be there. I’ll get you the phone so you can see for yourself. He never texted back.” The sheriff says, running a hand over his face tiredly, looking down at Rebecca with true sadness. “My daughter knew her you know? Him too.” He turns to Hotch. “They weren’t close but same school. Passed in the halls. It’s never easy when they’re young.”

Hotch nods, thinking…Andy texted Rebecca asking to meet after being gone for two weeks…why now? What did he want? Did he want her to leave town with him? Would he have been angry enough to hurt her if she said no? It looked like it, but he probably didn’t kill her, and he didn’t stab himself in the neck either. Hotch is pretty sure he knows who did though.

“Who called it in?” Hotch asks.

“Neighbors.” The sheriff answers. “They reported that they heard a woman scream, and then a gunshot.”

“I’d like to talk to them,” Hotch tells him. “Did they see anything or anyone?”

“Thought she saw a van in the driveway, no make or model. No vehicle when we got here.”

That was interesting. Andy could have come in the van, and his assailant took it to get away.

“Is it possible Andy was hiding out here? When did you pull your men off the place?” Hotch asks.

“He couldn’t have been here the whole time. I had people watching the place until this past Monday.” The sheriff says, somewhat defensively.

“So, timeline wise, Rebecca came directly here after school?”

“Ya that fits. Coroner figures they were both killed in the last hour or so.” The sheriff tells him, looking uncomfortable.

“I’m just trying to get a picture of what happened. It’s not personal.” Hotch says, turning back to the task. “If she came here and fought with Andy, he pushed her, she fell and hit her head, then someone else was here and stabbed Andy after that…” Hotch trails off considering.

No spatter on the walls meant Rebecca was lying down, and likely unconscious when she was shot by someone standing over her. That meant Andy was probably killed first, but why stab him and shoot Rebecca? The sound may be a contributing factor, not wanting the attention from the neighbors before the assailant was ready to flee…and, Hotch thinks, if he’s right Rebecca’s murder wasn’t personal while Andy’s very much was.

“No sign that the bodies were moved correct?” Hotch confirms.

“Right, they’re lying where they fell.” The sheriff responds.

“And you think Andy was stabbed from behind?” Hotch asks.

“Not sure, but I think so. We will know more after we the medical examiner gets through.”

“I’d like copies of all the crime scene photos, M.E reports, and ballistics too, as soon as possible. I will be at the hospital; can someone deliver them to me? Even preliminaries.” Hotch requests, standing up.

The sheriff nods. “Ya I’ll bring them over myself.”

Hotch offers his hand to shake. “Thanks. I’d like to look around outside before I go if that’s ok?”

“Course,” the sheriff says. “Neighbor who called it in is at home, house to your right when you head out. Denise Philips.”

* * *

Spencer was half asleep, holding his book in one hand when there was a knock at his door, and before he could answer, one of the nurses came in holding a folder. He was wary of the nurses; they were constantly poking at him. He didn’t like to be touched at the best of times, things like random handshaking baffled him, but these nurses took it to a new level with their invasive prodding.

This one gives him a smile and says, “Sorry to wake you, I was looking for your partner. A messenger left this at the desk.”

His partner? He wonders briefly what kind of relationship she thinks he and Hotch have, but then concludes it doesn’t really matter.

The folder is official by the look of it, so Spencer holds out his hand. “Ok I’ll take it.”

She looks uncertain, and he sighs, “I am an FBI agent, just like my partner. It’s fine.”

Handing it over she leaves the room and Spencer decides to ignore the interaction in favor of seeing what the folder has to offer. It is stamped from the coroners office, so it will contain the conclusive M.E report and he’s probably more qualified than Hotch to read and interpret it anyway.

Opening the folder, right at the top Benton Farlands cause of death is listed as Cardiac Arrest; but more interesting is the presence of aconitine, mesaconitine, and hypaconitine in the cardiac blood, drawing the conclusion that cardiac arrest was a direct result of aconite poisoning.

Spencer searches the banks of his memories for where he has heard of that before…it’s a plant poison from the genus Aconitum and if he’s not wrong that would include Wolfsbane, which was on Professor Greens list. Correctly it should have been listed as Monkshood or Devils Helmet, Wolfsbane being more of a nickname originating from the 18th century when it was used to poison meat for baiting and killing wolves.

After desperately searching the nightstand and blankets for the tablet he never used after Garcia insisted on teaching him, he catches sight of it plugged in across the room on the counter by the sink. Who puts things out of reach of someone who can’t currently stand? With no choice he buzzes for a nurse to get it for him.

Back to the M.E report, there is no mention of stomach contents beyond what he ate, not very thorough considering. Putting that aside, stomach contents were not fully digested and included typical breakfast food; so, if breakfast was served at 7:15 am at the Utah State Prison and Benton reported symptoms just before 11 am and time of death listed was 11:50 am, by Spencer’s calculations something didn’t add up. That was too fast for ingestion, though he supposes if the dose were high enough…still combining the poison with eggs and toast would slow it down…could he have ingested the poison with dinner the night before? No, surely that was too long.

With a noise of frustration, Spencer throws down his handful of papers and picks up the tablet that he never thanked the nurse for retrieving. Oh well, that could wait. Typing on the stupid device was difficult with one hand, but he managed by wedging it between his left arm and stomach, cursing the tediously slow internet.

Scanning page after page in mere seconds, he is sorting and storing information, when a nurse comes in to take his vitals. Asking her to get his cell phone, once again placed out of his reach, he dials Hotch and is frustrated when he receives a recorded message saying he is outside the service zone. Tossing the useless phone down, he reasons that Hotch is ok because he would have heard otherwise… he was only meeting with the sheriff. Spencer resolves to keep researching until he comes back, once again pushing the call button to ask for a pen and paper.

* * *

Hotch walks up and down the driveway hoping to find tracks, but everything is in chaos after police cruisers, vans, and emergency vehicles drove in and it’s impossible to decipher which might have belonged to the getaway van. Andy was at the state prison about 30 miles away, until 10 this morning so it stood to reason that he had use of a vehicle. Stolen maybe? Hotch makes a mental note to check with the locals about stolen vehicle reports in the area.

The neighbor could offer nothing more than having seen a dark coloured van parked out front, same time as she heard the gunshot, but it was gone by the time she got off the phone with police. She never saw who got in it or when they left, couldn’t see the plate number either.

Regardless, he doesn’t have to be a gambling man to bet that Amelia stabbed Andy and shot Rebecca; and that she did it because Andy outlived his usefulness, but not before telling Rebecca things that rendered her collateral damage. Hotch would add to that bet, outlandish or not, that Andy had something to with Benton’s death, and if they weren’t quick Amelia would be gone for good having taken care of all the business she had left in Salt Lake City. Except…

Pulling out his phone to call the hospital and warn them not to allow anyone into Spencer’s room until he got there, Hotch finds the sheriff to request back up. Quickly confirming that the roadblocks are back up, the APB is out, and the media alerted, Hotch makes a run for his SUV. Flicking on the siren, he tears out of the driveway, followed by two local cruisers, hoping against hope that this time he’s wrong about Amelia.

* * *

It takes longer than Spencer would like to find what he is looking for and put together an accurate account of what likely happened to Benton. He quickly confirms that both aconitine and mesaconitine can potentially poison a person through percutaneous absorption, as noted in a number of case studies Spencer is able to locate online. Over decades aconite has been used in the form of a tincture to treat pain, auto immune diseases and even cancer. All parts of the plants belonging to the Aconitum genus are typically toxic, with the root being the most potent, and historically it has been popular with wives looking to get rid of a husband, and also a weapon of choice for assassins. Aconite is lethal in very low doses, he learns, and in most cases undetectable unless an in-depth autopsy is performed.

By the time he is fighting to keep his eyes open, exhaustion setting in even though it is only late afternoon, he has compiled a host of information. He now has no doubt that Benton was poisoned through absorption, rather than ingestion. He is reasonably sure that Amelia had both the means and the knowledge to concoct a lethal dose of the toxin, and that Andy brought it to the prison, the sole purpose for his visit. The question remaining is how did they administer it without Benton or the guards being any the wiser?

Leaning back in bed, trying to get comfortable, Spencer begins to mull that over. He needs to interview the guard who supervised the visit, that would be a start. It was reasonable to assume he or she would have observed some sort of exchange. He also needs to speak to Hotch and fill him in on what he’s learned, and get his opinion, but he isn’t answering his phone.

Sighing, Spencer hopes Hotch won’t be long, and figures there’s no harm in trying to relax until he gets here. Shifting again, wishing he didn’t ache absolutely everywhere, he lets his eyes drift shut.

* * *

Hotch cuts the length of his trip back to the hospital in half, driving twice the speed limit, lights flashing and siren blaring, trying to put thoughts of Foyet, and arriving too late to help his wife, out of his head.

With four officers close behind, Hotch storms into the hospital, forgoing the elevator, and racing up three flights of stairs, shouting for nurses and personnel to clear the way.

They slow down on approach to Spencer’s room and pausing to listen first Hotch waves one of the officers to the other side of the door, ready to shoot if necessary. Reaching for the door handle he turns and pushes in one swift move, barreling into the room gun raised.

What he finds takes a moment to process, as relief washes over him and he bends, hands on his knees, to try and calm his racing heart.

Spencer is semi reclined in his bed, clearly woken by the noise they created barging in, eyes blinking and looking totally bewildered.

Without thinking, Hotch holsters his gun, taking the two steps to the bed in one stride and grabs Spencer in a hug, that’s probably a little too tight for comfort. Even so, Hotch can feel Spencer give in and relax into the embrace, so he holds on longer than he should, just so damn grateful he’s alive.

“Hotch what’s happening?” Spencer’s voice is muffled from where he’s still crushed against Hotch’s chest, “Are you ok?”

Pulling back with a laugh, hands still on Spencer’s shoulders, Hotch repeats “Am I ok? Yes, I am. Everyone’s ok.” Letting his hands drop he adds, “I’m sorry. I’ll explain when I catch my breath.”

Spencer nods slowly, studying Hotch’s face, thinking that he didn’t generally like hugs, but that one wasn’t so bad. Hotch smells like fresh air and coconut and he feels so solid, it’s easy to feel safe in his presence. Spencer is glad he’s back too because he has so much to tell him.

Following Hotch’s gaze to the bed beside him Spencer is about to apologize for the mess, when his eyes land on what Hotch is staring at…his gun, the very one Amelia took after stabbing him, right beside him, lying on top of the strewn papers like it had always been there.

“Where…” Spencer trails off not really knowing what he was going to say.

Hotch’s expression turns dark and he is on his feet, turning to the officers Spencer has just noticed standing behind him. “Call security, have them lockdown the hospital, right now!” He orders. “Hurry! Make sure they have photos of Amelia Porter, and tell them to search for her but not to engage her! Under no circumstances does anyone leave this building until I say it’s cleared, understand?”

Nodding, the four officers take off, radioing for back up as they do, leaving Spencer and Hotch to stare at the gun on the bed. It’s Spencer who finally speaks, the full weight of what must have happened sinking in.

“I think you need to tell me what is going on Aaron,” he says. He hesitates but reaches to pick the gun up, holding it carefully, verifying that the safety is on.

“Be careful with it,” Hotch says, unnecessarily because Spencer is holding the gun rather delicately anyway.

“Safety is on,” Spencer replies, and popping the cylinder out adds, “its loaded though.”

“It should be dusted for prints, so don’t handle it too much.” Hotch advises.

Spencer nods. “I have a lot to tell you,” he starts, “but I think you should go first. Why did you burst in here with half the local police force?”

“First it wasn’t half,” Hotch smiles. “And it’s a bit of a story so settle in.”

* * *

Spencer listens to Hotch tell him about Andy and Rebecca, a little shocked and more than a little annoyed that he was kept in the dark, however temporarily. Putting that aside for later, he is more immediately disturbed by the fact that Amelia was here in his room, without alerting nursing staff or himself; if he continues to think about it, her standing over him free to do her worst, it may just send him into another panic attack and he does not need that right now. What he needs is to focus on what he’s learned about Benton’s death, and get Hotch’s opinion.

“You need to know what I’ve been doing too,” Spencer tells him, sifting through papers to find what he’s looking for. “Here is the M. E’s report, you need to read it and then what I have to tell you will make more sense.” He thrusts it into Hotch’s hands, then watches while he reads.

“Where did you get it?” Hotch asks, even as he’s opening the folder.

“A messenger brought it earlier,” Spencer reveals. “But that’s not important. Just read.”

Hotch thinks it’s a little bit important but wordlessly does as he’s told. It isn’t shocking because they did anticipate foul play of some sort, but he suspects Spencer has more to add.

“Ok so if I’m understanding there was poison involved? It’s not a type I’m familiar with.” Hotch says, looking to Spencer for clarity. Snatching the report back, Spencer thrusts his tablet into Hotch’s hands instead.

“This site explains it in laymen’s terms.” Spencer tells him. “You should read it over, but basically aconitine, mesaconitine, and hypaconitine are all poisons found in the leaves and roots of plants from the Aconitum genus, including Wolfsbane which was found in Amelia’s greenhouse. It goes without saying that while Aconite had medicinal value, it is also highly toxic, lethal to an adult in a two-milligram dose in fact.”

Hotch listens patiently as Spencer works his way toward what he figures will be a spectacular conclusion.

“Anyway, I was a little concerned about the timeline because it would typically take quite a bit longer than the three or so hours since Benton had eaten breakfast that morning for the poison to cause symptoms. The contents of his stomach were not even fully digested and so I got to thinking about something I had read once and if you look here,” Spencer puts down the gun he had picked up again, to snatch the tablet from Hotch, scrolling through the page before handing it back and pointing to a particular paragraph.

“Here, see?” he says, picking the gun up from his lap. “This is the conclusion of three case studies where Aconite poisoning was fatal through percutaneous means. Symptoms would come on faster since there would be no delay in the poison getting into the bloodstream!”

Taking this in, Hotch looks up at Spencer who is turning the gun in his hands, eyes narrowing.

“You mean the poison is fatal just from contact with skin?” Hotch clarifies, not hiding his alarm.

“Yes!” Spencer answers, then squeals in shock when Hotch reaches out to knock the gun from his hands.

“Stop touching that!” Hotch gets up, and grabbing some tissues, uses them to pick up the gun and move it to the counter across the room. Running water in the sink he locates and wets a washcloth, tossing it to Spencer with the order, “wipe your hands!” …then he disappears into the hall and moments later returns with a wash basin which he fills from the sink.

“Here,” he says sitting on the bed again with the basin in his lap, “put your hands in here.”

Spencer obeys, a little confused. “Hotch I- “

“How do you feel? You aren’t nauseous right?” Spencer gets cut off by Hotch’s questions. It takes him a moment to figure out what his boss is thinking, he was so wrapped up in his realizations about the poisoning.

“Oh!” Spencer exclaims. “You think she poisoned the gun? Why though? She was right here, I was asleep, she could have just applied it directly to my skin.”

Hotch looks up from where he is holding Spencer’s hands in the water with a look of horror. “God Spencer! What do we do?”

“Whoa! Wait!” Spencer practically shouts.

“No, Spencer you need to shower. I’ll get the nurse. That will help right? Is there an antidote?” Hotch is as near panic as Spencer has ever seen him, which is interesting in a way, but he can analyze that later.

“Aaron, stop!” Spencer is really shouting now, to get Hotch’s attention before he runs off and gets the terrible night nurse that he has no love for. “Please, listen.”

Pausing at the door, Hotch tries to stay calm while he waits for Spencer to talk.

“I really don’t think she would poison me,” Spencer says honestly. “The gun is a message; I think it’s her way of saying she’s done here. I was thinking about it while you were reading the report.”

Hotch looks dubious but comes back to the bed. “Plus,” Spencer continues, “I’m in a hospital. We would recognize the symptoms and could likely reverse the effects. She did say she would rather taunt me than kill me.”

Hotch sinks onto the bed, putting his face in his hands, feeling suddenly completely overwhelmed.

“I just don’t know anymore, Spencer.” Hotch mumbles. “I think this woman has us beat.”

Spencer looks down at his hands, the mess of papers on the bed, then back up to Hotch who just looks done; he wants to make Hotch feel better, but statistics won’t help here, and for once Spencer is at a loss for words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh that Amelia is a slippery character, don't you just love her? I love evil characters, they're just delicious! So much fun!
> 
> So question time! TC and I want your opinion, we would like to know if you, our wonderfully amazing and loyal readers, want Hotch and Spence to go home or spend some more time in Salt Lake City? Let us know in the comments what you think! 
> 
> Want to find out if we took your suggestion or not? Be sure to subscribe to be notified when we update to find out! 
> 
> ~CC~


	17. Война и миръ

#### Chapter 17

### Война и миръ

###### War and Peace

All morning Spencer had been combing through files, reports, and papers, reading in his unusual way, scanning each page then setting it aside forming piles all around him on the bed. It was Hotch who had found a printer to print all the information that Garcia sent without asking questions, and now he was watching him and regretting the decision not to pull him off the case and force him onto leave.

The doctor had been here to discuss his coming release, to explain the need for ongoing physiotherapy, the seriousness of increasing circulation especially to his leg, the detrimental effects if he didn’t, and Hotch felt like Spencer hadn’t heard a word. His focus on not just the case, but Amelia herself, was all encompassing, but beyond that Hotch got the impression that Spencer was avoiding all talk of his recovery, and the steps he needed to get there.

Observing, Hotch is trying to understand what is going through the young agents mind, just what exactly he thinks he is accomplishing. Suddenly, Spencer’s head snaps up, eyes locking on Hotch’s, as he waves a bunch of papers around triumphantly.

“There was a series of murders in the North West territories from 2005 to 2007. All of them were couples and the local police don’t seem to have assembled them into one case…but all of the causes of death are the same, exsanguination, five dead in total, one man survived.” Spencer is wild eyed and could use sleep in Hotch’s opinion, but Hotch had long since learned never to discount what he had to say.

“Can I see?” Hotch asks, leaning forward and holding out his hand for the papers. Spencer hesitates, but hands them over. Hotch doesn’t miss the hesitation, and he thinks it’s odd. They’re a team, sharing information should be a given. “Why the interest in exsanguination specifically?”

“Well that was the cause of death for officer Gaertner, and from what you described of Andy Farlands wounds, the same would be true for him. I’m theorizing that it’s the blood that gives her a rush.” Spencer tells him.

Hotch can’t read anywhere near as quickly as Reid, who loses patience watching and continues to scan his pile of papers, taking them from one side of his bed and placing them on the other, all with his right hand refusing to even attempt the use of his left. Hotch is shocked by what the cold cases have to offer, not because of the content, but because Spencer is seeing a pattern where there isn’t one.

“These victims have nothing in common,” Hotch mumbles, still reading. “And this one is solved Reid. It was a drug deal gone bad. Two people shot and bled out from their wounds, but they apprehended and charged someone.”

“Yes, and local police make mistakes all the time Hotch,” Spencer replies.

“People make mistakes Spencer.” Hotch qualifies. “But I don’t think this is one.”

“Also, your survivor is from a car accident where he claims they were run off the road,” Hotch is reading as he carries on. “Wife was driving, crushed by the steering column when they hit a tree. Spencer, she bled out from an aortic injury and her blood alcohol was nearly twice the legal limit.”

“They were run off the road Hotch!” Spencer says loudly. “We have to consider all possibilities at this point. Clearly we are missing something where Amelia is concerned, we haven’t managed a viable profile so far, and we won’t be able to even attempt to catch her until we do- “Spencer cuts himself off, tossing a new file folder at Hotch. “Read this one. Seventeen-year-old boy, apparent suicide, but was dating a mystery girl for about six months before he died.”

Taking the file Hotch shakes his head, but reads it through all the same, not rushing though he realizes Spencer is watching him.

“And how would this relate to the other three cases you just gave me?” Hotch asks. “It’s a sad case, but it’s a suicidal boy who committed suicide Reid.”

“It’s the same time and same area as the first sighting of Amelia and she has a history of preying on vulnerable teens Hotch.” Spencer says, with the clear implication that Hotch is dense. “Also, he slit his wrists, which is an unusual choice for a male.”

“Ok,” Hotch says snapping the file closed and tossing it at the end of the bed. “That’s enough for now. We are stopping for lunch. What do you want to eat? Chinese? I’ll get a fork.”

The attempt at humour is unappreciated as Spencer strains to reach the file left at his feet. “I don’t care about lunch Hotch.” He makes a noise of frustration, “Can you hand me that please?”

“No, I can’t.” Hotch responds. “In fact,” he continues, starting to gather papers, folders, and random pens from off the bed, “let’s take this opportunity to talk about your health. Food first or after?”

Spencer reaches for the pile of papers Hotch is now holding, clearly angry at the declaration. “I am not a toddler Aaron, and you can’t offer me simplified choices to cover up the fact that you are handling me. I’m a profiler and a provable genius. Wait! I need that one!”

Ignoring, Hotch turns to put the stack of papers on the counter out of Spencer’s reach and says “It was an honest question. If you don’t want to choose I will.”

“Great, I had all of that organized. It will take hours to get back to where I was now. What did you do with my map?” Spencer complains, scanning the bed and side table.

“It’s in the pile, don’t worry.” Hotch soothes, “now let’s get you up, and you can try the cane.”

“Do you mean the method of judicial corporal punishment still employed by the former British territories? Because I believe that might be more fun than hobbling around the halls of this hospital in agony from multiple surgical sites.”

Hotch can’t stop himself from laughing. “That was funny,” he allows, “but seriously, if you don’t want to use the cane, we can try crutches?”

“No! My shoulder still hurts too, you have no idea what it’s like Aaron!” Spencer spits, as angry as Hotch has seen him yet. The fighting spirit is good, but Hotch can’t let it deter him. “How would you suggest I hold a cane? In my one good arm? Excellent! Why bother getting up if I have use of exactly no arms? Leave me alone, let me work.”

“Sorry, it’s not optional. You have to get up and walk.” Hotch states, hoping to stop the need for further debate with firmness.

“Oh?” Spencer responds, “is it FBI mandated? If not, I hardly see how you can make me.”

Hotch is taken aback by the challenge, but schools his features hoping it doesn’t show. “I have options. I can expedite your official leave for one,” Hotch lists, leveling Spencer with his best glare. “Or I can suspend you, which will leave you with no official status to request files or information from FBI databases. Or FBI employees, like Garcia.”

Spencer swallows visibly and turns his eyes away. Hotch softens his voice now, “Or I can help you get up and follow the doctors’ orders, then go out and buy food and fancy coffee with whipped topping and more sugar than a dessert. Your choice.”

For a brief moment Hotch was afraid Spencer would refuse to answer, and he would be forced to carry out the threats he made; then a whispered “Fine,” came from the younger agent.

“Fine?” Hotch questions.

“I will walk, ok?!”

“Perfect slide over to the edge here and I’ll help you get up off the bed.” Hotch offers, holding his arms out, like the physiotherapist had shown him.

“Again, I’m not a child. I don’t need to practice walking.” Spencer insists bitterly, though he does as asked, sliding over to Hotch.

“Yesterday you told the nurse you couldn’t stand.” Hotch points out.

“Ugh! Do they tell you everything? Whatever.” Gripping Hotch's forearm tight enough to hurt with his right hand, Spencer eases himself up to stand. “I want a cappuccino. With cinnamon on top. When you get coffee.”

Giving Spencer a minute to steady himself, Hotch slips one arm around his waist, and reaches for the cane with the other.

“No skim milk, and lots of sugar. Not sweetener.” Spencer adds, taking a tentative step. “Did you know giving glucose to babies when they receive vaccines significantly reduces the length of time that they cry? Crying time being the measure they chose to estimate pain levels.”

Hotch allows himself to chuckle at that. “I do now.”

* * *

Spencer made it through one lap of the square that surrounded the nurses’ desk at its center, mostly using Hotch for support, resistant to even attempting to use his left hand to hold the cane. Sweaty and worn out from the effort, he wanted to lie down but looked apprehensive as Hotch helped him back into bed. Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to understand that Spencer didn’t want to be left alone.

If he was being honest with himself Hotch he didn’t want to leave him alone either. He couldn’t help comparing the situation with Amelia to his experience with Foyet, and it was igniting all his protective instincts. He has to keep everyone safe this time, that he’s sure of; because Spencer was wrong before, he does know what it’s like…Hotch will never forget being attacked, left bleeding and helpless, staring into the eyes of someone who enjoys watching you suffer.

Spencer's eyes are closed so Hotch assumes he's asleep, until he speaks up.

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring at Hotch now. “For before. It’s just…”

Hotch holds his breath hoping Spencer is about to confide what is bothering him enough that it’s affecting his desire to get better; to get out of here.

Spencer glances at the pile of papers behind Hotch, then down at his hands resting in his lap.

“I let her get away in the first place. If I hadn’t everything would be ok. We would be at home.”

Hotch sighs deeply, not sure how to respond, knowing he couldn’t just tell Spencer it wasn’t true. Spencer was too smart for that.

“Look at me, Spencer.” Hotch demands, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Everything is ok.”

“No, it’s not,” Spencer says desperately, turning toward Hotch. “I can’t think about anything but her, she knew I wouldn’t be able to! She knew it and that’s why she didn’t kill me right? I’m only alive because after all these years, she wants attention!” The panic is rising in Spencer’s voice, and its killing Hotch to listen to it. “I screwed up and I owe my life to a serial killer.”

In one quick motion Hotch stands and grabs Spencer by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. “No!” He grits out, furious at this woman who has them all chasing their tails. “It doesn’t work like that Spencer! You don’t take responsibility for what she did, and you don’t owe her a goddamn thing!”

Spencer is gasping for breath now and Hotch knows this feeling; the overwhelming anxiety when you realize you just don’t have control and you’re going to have to live with it.

Sitting down on the bed, facing Spencer, Hotch let’s go and allows him to slump forward, and rest his head against his chest as he fights for control of his emotions. Awkwardly, Hotch rests a hand on the back of Spencer’s neck, just holding, wishing he were JJ, or Garcia, or someone who was better at this.

After a long time, Spencer reaches a hand up to wipe at his face, without lifting his head. Drawing in a long, shuddering breath, he whispers, “I want the painkillers, Aaron. I want them so bad! I could sleep and forget.”

It’s the second part of the confession Hotch has been expecting.

“I’m here. Just go to sleep. When you wake up, we will figure it all out together.”

____________________________

Monday morning Spencer and Hotch are waiting for final instructions before they leave, Hotch having brokered a deal for Spencer’s release.

Up and sitting in the wheelchair, Spencer grumbles but it’s good natured, because Hotch knows he’s glad to be leaving.

Spencer makes a face as Hotch hands him his crutches to hold, and the armful of stuffed animals Garcia collected for him during his stay.

“I can go to the Medical Examiner’s office with you right?” Spencer confirms, petting a fuzzy plush lamb, as Hotch hangs his go bag on the back of the chair.

“I said you could.” Hotch agrees. “You will need to walk in though.”

Another look of distaste crosses Spencer’s face. “Yes, so you said. And the Farland house?”

This Hotch was less sure about, but he slowly nods. “If the locals can accompany us, yes.”

“Did Garcia send the security footage?” Spencer asks.

“Yes, but we’ve all been through it.” Hotch reminds him. “No sign of her coming or going.”

“There has to be. I want to look for myself at the hotel. We can stay the whole week?” he questions. Hotch sighs.

“I said yes. As long as you come back for the wound checks without a fuss.” Hotch replies.

“Don’t call it “fussing" Hotch.” Spencer admonishes. “I’m not a colicky newborn.”

“Ok,” Hotch says absently, grabbing his own bag to toss over his shoulder. “We are staying high end at the Quality Inn,” Hotch jokes. “Same room, I thought that would easier.”

Spencer honestly doesn’t care; he just wants to be out of the hospital and away from strangers who get far too hands on for his liking. “We can go to the ME first?” he asks as they head out the door.

“Nope!” Hotch says, “hotel, food, then work. MEs office is a twenty-minute drive from the hotel, give or take.”

Hotch had advocated for Spencer to leave the hospital, thinking it would relieve at least one source of anxiety, but he was beginning to regret that decision. Spencer has talked about nothing this morning except the case, and while Hotch thought working would give him some sense of control, this was bordering on obsession. He had paid no attention to his conditions of release, outright ignored the physiotherapist, and was dismissive of the doctor’s advice on everything from wound care to medication schedule.

Setting aside his concerns, and ignoring Spencer’s objections, Hotch pushes the elevator button and resolves not to borrow trouble.

* * *

The office of the medical examiner is located in a small town next to Salt Lake City, on the first floor of a large building next to the public health unit.

Parking as close as he can to the doors, Hotch turns to Spencer. “So how do you want to do this? Crutches?”

“I can just lean on you. It will be fine.” Spencer says. “Seriously.” He adds when Hotch raises an eyebrow.

Getting Spencer down from the SUV is a hassle, but they manage, and after Hotch forces the cane into Spencer’s hand they make their slow way inside.

They are met by a technician who takes them to an autopsy room where the sheet covered bodies of Andy and Rebecca Farland are laid out. Hotch can’t help the wave of sadness that washes over him at the sight, and Spencer is silent, probably to keep his feelings from showing.

Grabbing a clipboard from beside the door, the technician, a tall brunette woman in her mid-thirties, says, “So we can start with the girl if that’s ok? Cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the heart, causing massive bleeding into the pericardium.” Moving to the first stretcher, the tech pulls back the sheet to reveal the damage. “Bullet was retrieved and already sent to ballistics. She was shot close range, most likely by an assailant standing over her.” The tech gestures, “that would be consistent with the angle of the wound.”

“What about the head injury?” Hotch inquires.

“Blunt force trauma, its antemortem, minor scalp lac, definitely not the cause of death but might have knocked her unconscious.” The tech replies, glancing at the clipboard in her hands.

“Was it caused by a fall or did someone hit her?” Hotch asks, keeping one eye on Spencer who was looking very pale.

“Hard to say for sure, but a fall is certainly a possibility.” The tech tells him.

Turning to Andy, she pulls the sheet down to his chest, saying “This one is interesting, cause of death is exsanguination from a single stab wound to the neck, but I have never seen anything like it.” Moving over to allow her guests a better view she continues, “This is the entry wound here, it pierced the larynx, and deep into the neck on a backward angle, see?” She points, waiting for them to nod. “But the knife wasn’t pulled straight out, it was yanked back toward the neck, effectively severing both the carotid artery and jugular vein, and opening the side of the neck with one cut. He would have bled out in seconds.” She looks up at them to ensure they are paying attention. “And if you look here, the ragged edge indicates that the blade had a partially serrated edge, which makes me think the weapon was a large hunting knife.”

Hotch observes what she’s saying, thinking that it makes sense, and looks to Spencer who appears to be staying in the room through sheer force of will.

“Anyway,” the tech goes on. “People don’t realize how tough the tissue and cartilage in the neck can be, your attacker would need to be very strong, and the knife extremely sharp.” The tech looks thoughtful, then adds. “It reminds me of hunting with my Dad when he would cut a deer’s neck before hanging it. There is some definite skill here. Your attacker knew what they were doing.”

Spencer looks sick, and Hotch is certain he has noted the similarities between his own wound and Andy’s.

“The written report is ready for you at the desk, you can call me if you have any questions at all.” The technician offers, as she replaces the sheets over both bodies.

* * *

Spencer is not as steady on the walk back to the car, and Hotch isn’t sure if he’s exerted too much effort or if he is just distracted.

“Hey, careful ok?” Hotch says, having to wrap an arm around him to keep him upright.

“I’m fine,” Spencer snaps. “I just want to sit down, can we hurry?”

Hotch wasn’t sure how to hurry when Spencer was barely able to stay on his feet, even with assistance, but he didn’t say anything.

“Is there no such thing as an FBI compact car?” Spencer mutters as he struggles to climb back into the SUV. They manage but Hotch thinks it’s time to call it a day.

“Let’s go back to the hotel. This has been a lot and you look tired. We can go to the Farland crime scene tomorrow.” Hotch suggests. He saw Spencer’s face while the technician talked about the attackers skill, how Andy never had a chance… _he would have bled out in seconds_ …

“I told you I’m fine. I want to go now.” Spencer says firmly, as Hotch helps get his leg in.

“And I said it’s enough for today.” Hotch closes the door before Spencer can protest and walks around to the driver’s side, reminding himself that he needs to be patient.

“I do want to go, Hotch. Please?” Spencer asks, as Hotch settles himself into the driver’s seat, apparently deciding to go with a smoother approach to getting what he wants.

“Spencer, I understand that what we saw in there hit home. It isn’t your fault, though.” Hotch stresses.

Spencer turns on him, eyes flashing. “I never said it was Hotch! I just want to do my job.”

“Part of doing your job is following orders, Spencer.” Hotch says, in a no-nonsense tone.

“So, you’re telling me you never felt responsible for Hayley’s death?” Spencer challenges. “Because you didn’t follow orders to stop working the case, and I never stopped helping you either!”

Facing forward, Hotch takes a deep breath, starting the car then gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands. “Ok, Spencer. If that’s how you want it, let’s go.”

* * *

Four local officers meet them at the Farland house, along with the sheriff who is standing at the front door when they pull up. The crime scene tape is still up, but forensics has long since finished up and the scene has been cleared.

Spencer gets out of the SUV only with effort, Hotch assisting, then he leaves the younger agent to lean on his cane while he approaches the house. Looking up at the façade he thinks to himself, who will ever want to live here again? This place has seen more than its share of violence and with no family left, it would likely hit the open market appealing to either the strangest, or most open minded of people.

Hotch takes the sheriffs offered hand and gives it a brief shake, thanking him for sending back up so they could go through the place again. The sheriff offers him a stack of folders, saying “This is all the crime scene photos and reports so far, for here and out at the farm, what there is on the truck, which is sitting at the station if your partner wants to see it.” He gestures to Spencer as he hands over the paperwork. “Good to see him up and around.” A sad look crosses the man’s face, and Hotch feels for him knowing what he’s thinking about officer Gaertner not being so lucky.

“Well I have to head out, but I wanted to hand that over in person. Let me know before you leave town, we can have a beer or something.” With that the sheriff heads back to his car, and Hotch turns to the SUV to see that Spencer hasn’t moved. Suppressing a sigh, Hotch jogs back to toss the files in the backseat and offer Spencer his arm.

“I can’t hold the cane, Hotch. I told you that.” Spencer explains.

That worries Hotch because the doctor had led him to believe Spencer would regain full use of his arm, and that he was ready for physio. Making a mental note to ask about it tomorrow when they go for wound care, Hotch moves the cane to Spencer’s right side.

“Try using it in this hand. It’s not perfect but it should help steady you.”

Inside they are met with an unpleasant smell, that would likely have been much worse if the weather weren’t so cool. There had been no attempt made to clean yet, no one had removed the textbooks or used cups from the coffee table, there was an afghan lying in a heap on one end of the couch, as if someone was coming home any minute to resume their life here; that is if it weren’t for the three matching bloodstains on the beige carpet of the combined living room and dining area.

Hotch gives Spencer time to take it in, knowing he’s recreating the events that took place here; the events that led to the annihilation of the entire Farland family. It occurs to Hotch that Amelia may consider that an achievement.

Spencer doesn’t move from where he stands beside the couch, but he can see the whole room from there so Hotch backs off, not offering further help. “You believe she killed them both?” Spencer inquires, but it’s more of a confirmation than a question.

“Yes, I do.” Hotch replies. Spencer nods.

“Do you think Amelia was with Andy in the van?”

“The locals thought so.” Hotch says.

“And you?” Spencer asks, eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Hotch tells him.

“Did she kill Rebecca first?” Spencer asks him.

“No, I think she killed Andy first.” Hotch says, not wanting to give away too much, wanting to hear Spencer’s opinion.

“Rebecca and Andy fought, he pushed Rebecca, maybe he thought she was dead…that gave Amelia the chance to come up behind him…would he have accepted her being there? Would he have trusted her at this point?” Spencer wasn’t talking to him, and Hotch knew enough to stay quiet.

Besides, it gives him a chance to observe Spencer while he’s distracted; the way he’s wincing every time he shifts his weight, how tense his jaw is, how he reflexively squeezes his right hand around the cane repetitively. He’s sweating too, and it’s not warm in here or outside. Hotch frowns, wondering why Spencer is hiding his pain when it suits, and using it as an excuse when it doesn’t. Clearly he doesn’t want to be removed from the case just yet, and maybe that’s all of it, but damn he’s smart too…is he aware of something Hotch isn’t? Something that he’s hiding?

“Hotch?” Spencer calls.

“What?” He realizes Spencer has called him more than once. “Sorry, what?”

“She shot Rebecca with my gun, didn’t she?” Spencer’s tone is interrogative, like he thinks Hotch will lie, which wouldn’t make any sense. It makes Hotch bristle a little.

“Ballistics isn’t back.” Unless it’s in the mess of papers he was just handed, he amends to himself.

“But she did.” Spencer says, in the same tone.

“I don’t know, Spencer. Wait for ballistics.”

They stare each other down, and there is no way Hotch is giving up and admitting that Spencer has any call to talk to him that way.

“You don’t even know what happened here!” Spencer bursts out, banging the cane against the floor, for emphasis. “Do any of you even care? Did you try to figure it out? Or are we just going to wait for Amelia to turn herself in so we can ask her!”

Hotch is silent, not sure how to respond. It’s not a fair assessment, but he doesn’t want to fight about it.

“Tell me what you think we missed then.” He says, keeping his voice level.

Spencer turns away, breathing hard. Harder than he should be Hotch thinks.

“Something Hotch! She can’t be wreaking havoc without leaving a trace!” Spencer shouts, all of his pent-up frustration showing now. “There has to be something, and how do I know now? It’s too late because everyone has given up!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I was here, I did my best Spencer.” Hotch says, folding his arms, conscious of how defensive it looks. “She will make a mistake, and we will catch her. No one has given up.”

Spencer is quiet, head bowed, and Hotch can see that he’s exhausted. It’s time for them to go because this is getting them nowhere. Approaching carefully, Hotch takes Spencer’s arm and guides him back outside.

* * *

Back at the hotel Hotch insists that Spencer shower, and Spencer insists on keeping his underwear on while Hotch washes him, and cares for the wound on his thigh that is still stapled and slowly healing. Then Hotch showers, taking his time and enjoying the hot water for as long as possible, casting around for a way to break the tension between Spencer and himself.

Out in the room, Spencer is curled up under a blanket on one of the beds, and Hotch doubts that he’s dressed himself. Once again he wishes that he were JJ, and it was easier to reach out to him and offer some comfort. He isn’t insensitive, but he also isn’t sure what Spencer will allow.

Sighing he pulls out his cell phone to order food, not even asking what Spencer wants. He has feeling he will be met with a sullen response of, “I’m not hungry” or something similar. Setting the phone down, fishing his wallet out and tossing it on the desk so he can find it later, he takes a deep breath and goes to Spencer, kneeling beside the bed.

“Hey,” he keeps his voice gentle on purpose, knowing he can come off a little too harsh. “You can take the pain medication. It’s a low dose, and the doctor said it was ok.”

Spencer turns his face into the pillow, so Hotch can barely hear his muffled response. “I don’t want it.”

Ok, Hotch thinks, getting up to find tea in the hotel supplies. Tea is supposed to cure almost anything, or so he’s heard. Garcia brings people tea. Part of him thinks that scotch might be the better bet, but he decides against it.

Placing the microwaved tea on the nightstand, Hotch finds sweatpants and a t-shirt in his own bag and brings them back to the bed, before touching Spencer’s shoulder.

“Can I try to help?” Hotch asks, carefully rolling Spencer onto his back as he does. He meets with no resistance and he thinks he sees a little curiosity in Spencer’s eyes, along with the suspicion.

Lifting the blanket off Spencer’s legs, not giving himself time to overthink, Hotch says, “So, your physiotherapist said that massage would have all sorts of therapeutic effects." Hotch places his hands around Spencer’s calf, beginning to gently rub, encouraging him to relax.

“She said it not only relaxes tense muscles, but it can reduce nerve compression,” Hotch informs, as he kneads the muscle between hands, using the speech to focus on, and keep himself from feeling too awkward.

He works his way up to Spencer’s uninjured thigh, in no rush as he places the heel of his hand down and uses long strokes to work out some of the knots and tension.

“It has even been shown to release endorphins in the brain that reduce anxiety,” Hotch continues, “plus human touch simply seems to have a calming affect on most people.”

He moves to Spencer’s injured leg now, slowly repeating the process up to the thigh, where he works his hands underneath so as not to press on the bandaged area. He keeps going until he hears Spencer moan and feels him arch his back a little.

Not wanting to get too personal Hotch withdraws to pick up the pants and threads them over Spencer’s feet one at a time. “You don’t have to do this alone, Spencer. And even if everything seems bad now, it’s going to get better.”

Spencer groans, stopping Hotch’s hands as they go to pull the pants up. “Wait, it’s ok. I can get them on.”

“It’s ok, I won’t look while I do it, how’s that?” Hotch offers.

Before Spencer can answer, there’s a knock at the door, and Hotch gets up.

“That’ll be the food. Just give me a second, I’ll be right back.”

Pulling a pillow over his face, Spencer sighs with relief, and begins to recite War and Peace in it’s original Russian to himself, hoping Hotch will take more than a second to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are hard. TC and I will finish a chapter and then it will take us like at least an hour to figure out a title... We were all over the place tonight. I was being a pest and absolutely hilarious, even if I do say so myself. A lot of double entendres and innuendos! Anyways, the title "Война и миръ" is actually the original Russian title of War and Peace. ^_^
> 
> Let us know in the comments if you would experiment with this alternative form of pain management with Hotch. ;) I know TC and I would definitely take him up on the offer in a heartbeat!
> 
> What did they get for dinner? Subscribe to find out! 
> 
> ...but actually, no, we didn't really decide what they ate... probably Chinese... I love Chinese! But if you subscribe you can be notified when we update!
> 
> ~CC~


	18. It's Not Easy Being Green

#### Chapter 18

### It’s Not Easy Being Green

The next morning, when Hotch pries his eyes open at what feels like the crack of dawn, Spencer is already sitting up on his bed, surrounded by papers. Again. Vaguely, Hotch wonders where he got them. Groaning he turns to look at the clock between the beds, the illuminated numbers announcing that it’s only 5:54. Rolling away from Spencer and the bedside lamp, he mutters, “What are you doing?”

“I’m reading. Oh, and you need to hear this…Aaron? Are you listening?” Spencer glances over to see that his boss has rolled over and is trying to go back to sleep. He bites his lip, knowing he should let him be, but he wants to talk. About the case, but also about being a jerk yesterday.

Aaron has been kind and patient, but Spencer is embarrassed by how dependent he has become since the attack. At times he couldn’t stand to have Hotch out of the hospital room, and he would willingly return, not mentioning Spencer’s needless panic, just standing by the bed until he felt ok again. Spencer knew the hospital would not have agreed to release him if it weren’t for Aaron advocating. He was only here working the case because of Aaron’s indulgence, so Spencer cringes, remembering how he had accused him of not caring, not working hard enough. Of course not, he had spent all his time coddling Spencer.

Then last night when he was at his most defeated, feeling sorry for himself and afraid he had alienated his ally for good, Hotch had gone out of his comfort zone to help. When Aaron first touched him, he had considered objecting…but it had felt so good from the very start that he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Listening to Hotch talk, even repeating the nonsense the physiotherapist liked to spew, was soothing. It eased his anxiety, made him forget his constant headache, and he sank into the feeling so completely that his body reacted in the most humiliating way possible…

Thinking about it makes him groan. Hotch is his mentor and having to scramble to hide that particular reaction, made him feel like a horny teenager in front of the man he most respects; not to mention being entirely inappropriate. It would be nice if just once Aaron could see him as more than the “boy wonder”, expert at everything, but a constant disappointment in the field.

“I can hear you thinking Spencer,” Hotch interrupts his train of thought, and Spencer flushes. “Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t Aaron, its impossible. Plus, I have to pee.” Spencer admits.

To his credit Aaron doesn’t groan, or ask him to wait, he rolls out of bed and is at Spencer’s side in seconds. Picking up one of the folders, he gives Spencer a look.

“Are these the files the sheriff gave me?”

Ducking his head, Spencer replies, “Yes, you left them on the end of my bed. I thought you wanted me to look.”

Aaron doesn’t look entirely happy, but he tosses the folder back down out of the way. “Well come on,” he says. “You have to slide over here.”

Hotch is concerned by how stiff Spencer is on their trip to the bathroom. He is putting hardly any weight on his right leg and supporting his left arm with his right hand. He is also squinting painfully in the bright light, and Hotch thinks he must have a headache that he hasn’t mentioned.

Putting Spencer back in bed he retrieves some Tylenol from his bag and brings it back with a bottle of water.

“Take these, and don’t complain. It’s not a narcotic and it will help with your headache.” Hotch orders, placing the pills in his hand. Spencer hesitates but takes them.

“I want to look at your leg. Is it hurting more than yesterday?” Hotch asks.

Spencer grabs his waistband with his good hand, shaking his head vigorously. “No!” He says quickly, then blushes. “I don’t have underwear on.”

Hotch smiles, wondering if Spencer remembers how much of him he saw in the hospital, after surgery when he was still sedated, but he doesn’t mention it. “Fine, we have wound care later at the hospital anyway.” Hotch acquiesces. “Now what is so important that we aren’t going to sleep anymore this morning?”

“Well something occurred to me when I was looking over the ME report on Andy Farland, I don’t know why I didn’t notice it sooner. He was stabbed by someone left-handed.” Spencer shares, shuffling papers in his lap, a few sliding to the floor.

“Wait. Wow.” Hotch takes the papers Spencer is handing him now. “Amelia is right-handed. Why did I not catch that sooner? So, Amelia didn’t do this? You should have led with this Spencer.” Hotch is floored by this piece of information, wondering why Spencer wasn’t more insistent about waking him. Multiple missing killers was not good news for them.

“Let me finish Hotch,” Spencer interrupts. “I don’t think it rules Amelia out at all. I mean, it bears consideration, but look at this… where is that stupid tablet!”

Hotch sighs, putting his hand over Spencer’s to stop his frantic search. “Just tell me Spencer. I can read about it later.” Hotch can’t help but yawn. Too many days of too little sleep are catching up to him.

“Ok. Well when, Amelia stabbed me it was definitely with her right hand, but then I remembered…she held the knife in her right hand, but she held my gun just as naturally in her left hand. In fact, I thought she was going to stab me and then shoot me to well…anyway,” Spencer swallows hard, giving himself a second to clear the images from his mind. Hotch frowns but keeps quiet.

“It got me to thinking that as far as we know there is no one else with a motive for killing Andy and Rebecca. No one else makes sense unless we are missing something. But we know Amelia is a survivalist like her Dad who was serious about it, and serious survivalists have been known to train themselves to be ambidextrous.”

“Ok…” Hotch says slowly.

“I mean its possible she was born ambidextrous, but its rare, only one percent of the worlds population is. It makes more sense that her father trained her from a young age to use both hands, recognizing the value of an obscure skill like that in the far wilderness. Obviously, an injury that limits a person’s ability to obtain food, water or shelter could be fatal with no access to medical care. The full use of your non dominant hand could be life saving, as well as just plain handy.”

“And you think this is probable? We aren’t eliminating Amelia based on our suspect being left handed?” Hotch confirms.

“Absolutely not.” Spencer tells him. “That was never my point. My point is that we need to stop underestimating her and figure out who she really is. No detail should be overlooked.”

Hotch wholeheartedly agrees with that.

“Is that the only thing you discovered in the files I was given?” Hotch asks pointedly. In truth, Spencer is entitled to look at the files, but it would have been nice to do it together. Instead Hotch is a few steps behind.

“No, its not! I was also looking a Benton Farlands ME report and I have some questions. Did anyone attend to see the body?” Spencer asks.

“I guess not,” Hotch admits. “We got the prelim and then the team left so I haven’t followed up yet.”

“Well, it isn’t clear how the poison was administered to Benton from the report, so we need to interview the guard that supervised the visit. It would be helpful if there was surveillance video too.”

“I hope there is footage of the visit.” Hotch acknowledges. “What are you thinking? Injection of some sort?”

Spencer considers that, and then shakes his head. “Anything like a syringe would be hard to get through security. There had to be another way, and I know that Amelia is behind it. Any known Aconite poison should have taken minimum six hours to kill a man Benton’s size, most likely longer. Presuming Andy administered the poison, Benton was dead in less than half that time.”

Hotch nods, watching Spencer as he runs through whatever facts and figures were in his head.

“Aconite is unique in its ability to kill through absorption, and I’m nearly certain that’s how it was accomplished with Benton, but I need to see the greenhouse. I know Garcia and Professor Green already put together a report, but I need to see for myself. I have an idea."

“Ok, so let’s go.” Hotch defers to him without further question.

* * *

Hotch parks close to the greenhouse to make it as easy for Spencer as he can, but the building is huge, and Spencer is determined to take in every detail. The plants still sit where they always have, left in the greenhouse for fear that transporting them could kill them.

The list provided by Professor Green of the species, scientific names, genus’, and possible uses for each of the plants in the greenhouse is impressive. To Hotch it seemed very thorough, but Spencer seems convinced something was missed, and now he’s focused on confirming his theory. Hotch isn’t sure if he just feels the need to take control of the situation, or if he really is on to something, but he stands back to wait, ready to help if he’s needed.

Without looking up Spencer comments, “This is an impressive set up. She has climate zones to cater to differing species, a sprinkler system, rain barrel water collection…nothing is really flowering now, but these would be breathtaking in the Spring and Summer.” Gesturing to the plants in front of him, he continues. “If you look here, this is labeled as Deadly Nightshade, or Atropa Belladonna, but it has minute differences that I believe confirm my theory.”

Hotch holds back a sigh. “You haven’t told me your theory, Spencer. Care to share?”

“Oh, right!” Spencer looks slightly sheepish. “Sorry. I believe what Amelia is doing is cross pollinating two species of like genus to create hybrids that produce a more lethal poison. It would explain why Benton died within three hours of being poisoned, when it should have taken much longer.”

Hotch nods, thinking. “You don’t think Andy acted on his own then? He was directed by Amelia?”

“I can’t imagine it any other way.” Spencer replies. “One thing I can’t figure out is why Professor Green didn’t notice the inconsistencies with some of the species here. He is an expert in his field, he should have spotted the obvious differences.”

Hotch is wondering that himself. It seems they need to pay Professor Green a visit.

“Oh! Did I hear there were seeds? Were they labeled? Most likely they were harvested after cross pollination. If so, it’s those seeds that would produce the hybrid plants.” Spencer tells him.

“There were seeds catalogued into evidence. We can have them analyzed to confirm.” Hotch tells him, just as his phone rings. The call is from Rossi.

“I’ll keep looking around.” Spencer says moving off slowly, awkwardly leaning on his cane, giving Hotch space to talk privately.

* * *

The call from Rossi hadn’t gone very well, and Hotch is still fuming when he gets off the phone. Spencer looks up questioningly from a large, leafy purple plant he has been scrutinizing, and Hotch schools his features as he waves him off.

Hotch and Rossi go way back; as student and mentor, colleagues and friends, and there weren’t all that many times that they disagreed. Not many times that Dave had tried to dictate his personal life either. Both in one conversation was a first.

Dave called to let him know that Kate was thinking of resigning, stating that she didn’t feel like part of the team. Recalling what Rossi said, Hotch’s stoic mask falters, and he’s glad Spencer isn’t looking.

_I don’t think that’s it at all Aaron. You are letting her shoulder the blame for what happened in Salt Lake City and that’s not ok._

Blame wasn’t productive unless you could use it to make positive change, that’s what Hotch thought, and he had said as much.

_If the blame is hers it’s my job to let her take it. We learn from our mistakes, not from people telling us we didn’t make any, Dave._

That was when Rossi suggested that maybe Hotch was too close to the situation. That he had lost his objectivity.

_Staying behind with Spencer is what you needed to do, but you are this team’s leader, and we all need you._

Eyes turning to where Spencer is leaning on his cane talking to one of the locals, Hotch considers that. He doesn’t feel like he has been a reliable leader on this cursed case, and he has thoughts of self recrimination daily; thoughts that get harder to ignore the longer the search goes on, and the further out of reach Amelia gets. What if the they had lost the boy wonder, the heart of their team, all that potential…could they have moved on from that?

_The team has me. I’m a phone call away, Dave, just like always._

Forgive him if he thought that Kate moving on was an acceptable tragedy. One he could think about later.

_Aaron, you’re not thinking clearly. This is a hard job we do. We have to be able to make decisions without being haunted by them. You know that._

Too late. Hotch is already haunted by that day, the calls he made, and how close Spencer came to dying. By the fact that four people are dead, and the ordeal still isn’t over.

_Spencer almost died, Dave, and how many times is that I have let him down? Tobias, anthrax…he walks himself into trouble because he is always thinking about other people. From now on I will be here to make sure that at least one person is looking out for him._

Hotch can’t lose Spencer. He depends on his skills in the field, he values his amazing mind, but it’s the late night visits to his office that he can’t live without; helping with paperwork, staving off loneliness, whatever the excuse, the truth is Hotch needs Spencer in a way he hasn’t been able to put a label on, but it isn’t new.

_The team looks out for each other, Hotch. It isn’t all on you, and you’ve been in this game long enough to know that. This is personal and I’m worried. Please, take a step back, clear your head Aaron._

Hotch hangs up the phone without promising anything.

* * *

“Is everything ok?” Spencer ask as Hotch helps him back into the SUV.

“Yes. Why?”

“What did Rossi want to talk about? How did their case go there?”

“It was quick and local. They are all just catching up on paperwork now. Garcia is bored and would love to help us out. We just need to say the word.” Hotch steps back to close the door and walk around to the other side. Sliding into the drivers seat he jokes, “For now though, lets go visit her Professor.”

The expression on Spencer’s face is comically confused. “He’s not her professor, Hotch. Penelope never went to school here, and I don’t think botany is a field of interest for her…oh, that’s not what you mean. You mean because she enjoyed working with him so much.”

Hotch laughs, “Yes that’s what I meant. The University Campus is on our way to the Prison, so we can stop there first. Sound good?”

It’s a good plan, but at the University they are told that Professor Green hasn’t been in since last Wednesday. The receptionist also informs them that the professor cancelled his Thursday and Friday classes, and doesn’t teach on Monday and Tuesday, so he is likely at home. She happily provides them with an address not far away.

They soon find themselves pulling up to the professor’s modest home, a small beige bungalow, not much to look at, but located in an upper-class neighbourhood, with mountain views. What the house lacks, the garden makes up for in grandeur, taking up the whole front yard, featuring bricked walkways between the well organized beds.

Everything appears normal at first glance, but a closer look reveals an overflowing mailbox, multiple newspapers on the porch, and the garage door left wide open with no car inside. It isn’t necessarily reason for alarm, but suddenly Hotch prefers that Spencer stay in the vehicle.

“I’ll go up alone.” He says. “There’s no car in the garage so maybe Green went out. If he is home, we can talk out here so you can stay sitting.”

Spencer looks ready to object but taking in Hotch’s expression thinks better of it. “Be careful then.”

Reasonable or not Hotch is uneasy. Instinct is screaming that something isn’t quite right here, so he approaches the door with his hand on his gun. Reaching the front step, he listens, and hearing nothing from inside, knocks heavily on the door, declaring “FBI! We are hoping to talk to you, Professor.”

No answer so Hotch tries the door, and finding it unlocked, draws his gun before swinging it open.

It’s dark inside, all the curtains drawn, and it takes a few seconds for Hotch’s eyes to adjust. When they do, he can see he is standing in a tidy living room, where nothing seems out of place. The furniture is good quality with an antique feel, massive solid wood desk dominating one corner, chest style coffee table in front of the brightly patterned sofa. He notes that every surface holds a houseplant of some sort, most of them large and overflowing their pots; likewise, every window contains a hanging plant. A few Hotch can identify, common spider plants, large leafy ferns, and a giant aloe resting on the coffee table. Others appear entirely exotic, with strange shapes and intense colours. It strikes him as strange that every curtain is shut tight, letting in little to no light for the small jungle residing in the room. No signs of a struggle though, nothing is obviously missing, broken or knocked over, but the house is cold like someone shut off the heat.

Same story in the kitchen, plants everywhere, a beautiful one with dark purple foliage holds sway on the counter, and a fiery red cactus decorates the tiny breakfast nook. More plants than he has ever seen inside someone’s home. Here too, curtains and blinds are closed, and Hotch can only navigate by what little light manages to bleed through the window coverings. He continues through to a hallway that presumably leads to the bedrooms. 

By now he is certain that something is off, and he tries to remember the last time Garcia mentioned speaking to the professor. He wishes he had paid more attention when she talked about him, but his focus had been on Spencer and his recovery.

The first door on his left is open and holds a desk, shelves, and a computer, clearly being used as a home office. The room would be uncluttered if it weren’t filled with more plants, same as the living room and kitchen. The most prominent was a tall potted tree in the corner, and a hanging plant in the window, trained to creep across the top of the bookshelf. Its foliage is full enough to block any light into the room, even if the blinds weren’t already closed.

The next room, also on the left, is a bathroom, fastidiously clean and undisturbed. The plants in here have a tropical feel, likely enjoying the moist heat from the shower. There are many, even in this compact room, set on the windowsill, counter, and floor. Thanks to his Grandma, Hotch recognizes the biggest one next to the sink as a Fiddle Head Fern. 

On the right hand side of the hall, directly across from the bathroom is what appears to be a guest room. Again, it houses basic furniture, bed, chair and one dresser, but it too, is crowded with a variety of greenery. Once again, it strikes Hotch as odd that someone who nurtures an army of sun worshipping plants would have every window covered.

The only room left is the one directly in front of him, that must span the whole back of the house. It is also the only closed door. Approaching cautiously, Hotch calls out again, “Professor Green? I’m agent Hotchner from the FBI. I’m opening the door now.”

Stepping forward he does just that, and is instantly hit by the smell, causing him to take an involuntary step backwards. Coughing, then pressing his sleeve to his nose, as he recovers and steps into the room.

He can’t say he’s surprised by what he sees, he had a bad feeling from the time they pulled up, and the stench of decomposing flesh just confirms his fears.

Like all the other rooms, this one is clean with everything in its place, containing two antique dressers, and a large Victorian rug that covers most of the floor. The window is open, likely the only reason he wasn’t alerted to the smell sooner, and the closed curtains are billowing in the breeze. The plant life in here is perhaps the most unique. Orchids adorn both dressers, no flowers but Hotch recognizes their tall stems and waxy leaves. The rest are a mystery to him.

What’s wrong is Professor Green, sprawled across the bed, half covered by the vibrantly coloured bedspread, dead and decaying, obvious bullet wounds to his head and chest. Vacant eyes are directed to the ceiling, stuck in a permanent stare, and Hotch gets the sinking feeling they won’t be finding any clarity here.

“Fuck” he curses, as he pulls out his phone to call the sheriff.

* * *

Spencer insists on helping to process Professor Green’s body, Hotch’s every effort to convince him it isn’t necessary falling on deaf ears. Declaring that he notices details no one else does, and that he is not going to be left in the car like a dog, he leaves Hoch no choice but to help him inside.

“It appears to be an execution,” Spencer is saying, either to Hotch or the young woman attempting to examine the body from the opposite side of the bed. “No sign of a struggle in the room, and state of decomp makes it hard to tell but I think he was beaten before he was killed. There are fractures to his nose and orbital bone.”

“He was shot in the bed at close range,” the forensic tech across from him adds. “Looks like a professional hit.”

Spencer turns to Hotch who’s standing in the doorway, mulling over the situation in his head, trying to make it add up.

“Was this Amelia?”

“There is no evidence that they knew each other,” Hotch says carefully. “It certainly is coincidental that the professor was helping with our investigation right before he was killed, but no verifiable connection I know of.”

Nodding, Spencer turns back, eyes scanning the room.

“We need Garcia to look into his background. See if there is a reason someone would want him dead.” Spencer muses, thinking. “Zelen Green…you know that Zelen is Croatian for green?”

Hotch can’t help rolling his eyes fondly. “No, my Croatian is rusty.”

“Mine too,” Spencer agrees, missing the sarcasm. “Croatian has maintained a lot more Slavic words than Bosnian or Serbian though, and my Russian is excellent so I can get by. Anyway, essentially the professor’s name was Green Green, and he chose a career in botany. That’s kind of odd right? There must be a story behind that.”

Spencer turns back to look at Hotch, who nods. “Definitely not average.”

“Why would a parent name their child Green Green?” Spencer is regarding Hotch curiously.

“Maybe they didn’t know what it meant?” Hotch offers, not sure he’s the right person to ask. He named his son Jack, after all.

“Well they probably should have checked.” Spencer replies.

Hotch snorts at that, suppressing a laugh.

“Green’s van is missing. It’s the only thing that appears to be missing. It’s a black Dodge Caravan, and I checked already, it hasn’t been reported stolen.” Hotch moves on, waiting for Spencer’s eidetic memory to draw the same connection he has.

“Like the van that Denise Philips reported seeing parked at the Farland house?”

“That was my thought. I have nothing concrete, but it all seems strangely connected.” Hotch says. “it’s not a huge stretch to imagine that Amelia may have been known to the Professor, they certainly had some shared interests.”

“So, you do think Amelia had something to do with this. Do you think she killed him?” Spencer asks.

“I wouldn’t rule it out.” Hotch tells him honestly. “But it isn’t really her style.”

Spencer is getting frustrated, Hotch can see it but he has no answers. This case in general is all questions and no answers.

Turning back to the forensic tech across from him, Spencer questions, “Have you estimated a time of death? The window was open, so the cold would have slowed decomposition. Just from physical appearance and fluids I'd say minimum four or five days.”

They do need to talk to Garcia and confirm when she last spoke with Green. That would help with the timeline. Hotch admits it seems like Amelia played a part in this latest twist, but he has serious doubts that she murdered Green. His death has the look of a professional hit, and if Amelia wanted Green dead Hotch bets it would have been more personal.

Shaken out of his thoughts by a local officer asking for his attention outside, Hotch wonders how much more complicated things can get.

* * *

“Tell me what I’m looking at?” Hotch questions the officer who asked for his assistance in the backyard of Green’s house. It was fully fenced back here, but Hotch notes that there is a back gate and it has been left wide open. Could be how the unsub got in.

“That.” The officer points to an ATV parked beside a large shed in the far corner of the yard. “It’s Officer Gaertner’s personal ATV. He had it with him the night he was killed.”

Well fuck. Hotch didn’t think he had ever had a case that made him want to swear as much as this one.

“Are you sure?” Hotch verifies, looking over at the officer, who is plainly upset.

“Oh no doubt.” He replies. “Gaertner and I used to hunt together pretty regular. Even if I didn’t recognize it, those are his plates.”

Damn it. More questions, no answers. Amelia took that ATV, so it stood to reason she had left it here too. What business did she have with Professor Green?

“I assume you can come right down from the trails to the backyard here?” Hotch asks the officer. If that’s the case, and it was Amelia who had brought the quad here, then she had probably been in the woods all the time they were searching for her.

“Sure can.” The officer confirms. “Also, his closest neighbour is on vacation. We checked. So not much chance anyone saw or heard anything.”

“Perfect.” Hotch mutters. They need a break and they need it soon.

Running through the facts in his head, Hotch tries to simplify the situation down to what they know only, no speculation. Amelia had the quad, and now it’s at Green’s house. Green helped with their case against Amelia, now Green is dead and his black van is missing. Andy was driving a black van the day he was killed. It had to fit together, and they were just going to have to figure out how.

* * *

Spencer wants to help with the search of the house, the discovery of the ATV fueling his fire in a way that Hotch isn’t sure is healthy. He cannot deny that Spencer’s expertise is an asset here, but Hotch is having trouble watching him push himself.

Sitting at Green’s desk in the living room, Spencer is sorting through drawers one by one, looking for something, anything, to explain what went on here. While he does that, Hotch watches and wonders what difference it will make. His profiling skills, his experience, his heart are all telling him Amelia is long gone. If they want her now, they are going to have to cast a much wider net.

“Is it just me or does everything seem just a bit too neat?” Spencer asks suddenly. “Look at these drawers Hotch. Who stays this organized in their own home? It makes no sense! Someone who shows this level of cleanliness and organization in their own home likely has a compulsive disorder, but Professor Green didn’t even notice the hybrid plants at Amelia’s greenhouse. How could someone so meticulous miss something so obvious in their own field of expertise?’

Hotch doesn’t think the hybrid plants were that obvious at all, but before he can offer an opinion Spencer’s head snaps up. “He had to have misled us intentionally, which would make sense if he was working with Amelia. He probably knew where she was all along! Damn it!” Slamming the drawer, he was just rooting through, Spencer sits up to glare around the room. Hotch opts not to disrupt his rant, or the thought process he is going through. The younger agent is on edge in a way Hotch rarely sees him but considering his personal investment in the case it’s understandable.

“Hotch!” Spencer snaps, waving a hand in his direction. “Are you listening to me?”

Pressing his lips together and choosing not to rise to any bait, Hotch replies, “I am Spencer. I’m right here listening.”

“Well?” Spencer prompts.

“I don’t think we can draw any conclusions just yet. We should finish the search here, see what we come up with.” Hotch waits for a response but Spencer is lost in thought again, running his fingers distractedly over an unusual succulent on the desk.

“Do you know what all these are?” Hotch waves a hand at the forest around him, trying to change the subject, and maybe stimulate a productive conversation. Spencer loves facts, thrives on educating others with them, and Hotch hopes to pull him out of the downward spiral he’s in…before they have to talk about Amelia, about going home, and about letting go without giving up.

Spencer looks up and meets Hotch’s eyes, then pauses for a moment gaze narrowing as he frowns. Hotch knows he’s been figured out, but Spencer seems to contemplate before giving in.

“This one is a Dolphin succulent,” he says, referring to the plant on the desk in front of him. “It is often called Senecio peregrinus, but that is incorrect, same family different genus. That’s a long story though, and you don’t really care. For the layman, it is a Dolphin plant because,” Spencer flicks one of the long tendrils, “its leaf clusters resemble a pod of dolphins swimming. People love dolphins.”

Sighing Hotch shakes his head. “I do care, or I wouldn’t have asked, for the record. Are you finished with the desk?”

“No, not yet.”

“I’m going to head back to the bedroom, check out the closet and drawers in there. Call if you need me.” Hotch tells him, getting up to head down the hall. He thinks he hears Spencer mutter something but opts to ignore it.

* * *

The forensics team is heading out with Green’s body, just as Hotch is coming in, and he feels a wave of sadness for the senseless loss of life. He didn’t know the man, but every individual leaves an empty space when they exit the world, and it always feels like a shame.

Hotch starts with the dresser closest to him, working his way from the top drawers down. In his experience people tend to keep their most treasured hideaway items with their socks or underwear, but here there is nothing. He works his way through all the drawers in both dressers and finds nothing more interesting than a collection of pop can tabs in with Green’s extensive collection of ugly ties.

Nothing in the nightstand drawers, behind the mirror, or in the attached master bathroom he hadn’t seen until now. Just razors, deodorant, cologne, and more plants on every available surface. Hotch thinks it would be a full time job just to keep them all watered.

Back to the bedroom, ready to give up on finding anything that will help them, Hotch hits the jackpot of sorts. Opening the bifold doors to Green’s closet he expects to find neatly hung shirts and pants; instead, he finds floor to ceiling shelves, containing one of the biggest pornography collections Hotch has ever seen.

Everyone has their secrets, and Greens may be bigger than an enthusiastic love of porn on DVD Hotch realizes, as he peruses titles like, Glory Holes in San Francisco, and 7 Deadly Sins of Men…there had to be over a hundred videos. From the top shelves Hotch pulls down wicker baskets collectively filled with the largest collection of sex toys he has ever seen. In one there is lube, flavoured lube and massage oil; in another surgical gloves and a hefty amount of condoms. Hotch has to hold back his laughter thinking about how this would be going if Morgan and Garcia were here.

Hotch is absorbed enough by his thoughts and discovery that Spencer’s voice startles him, and he almost moves to conceal the heaps of toys, videos and sexual paraphernalia surrounding him.

“You have to see these!” Spencer practically shouts from the door, where he is awkwardly leaning against the frame, cane and a pile of photo's all clutched precariously in his right hand. Hotch hurries over to steady him, guiding him to sit in the chair just inside the door. Spencer’s eyes travel to the variety of sex toys and porn scattering the floor, while Hotch flips through the pictures he’s been handed.

The backdrop in all of them is Green’s bedroom, exactly as it is now, down to the colorful bedspread, gaudy bedside lamp, and army of orchids on the dresser. The photos are front lit, so the photographer must be standing by the window…or outside the window looking in. The subjects are Andy Farland and Professor Green together on the bed, in various intimate poses. Lying face to face, shirtless, forehead’s touching…Andy laughing at something, and Green smiling up at him indulgently….Green leaning up on one elbow, hand on Andy’s naked chest, staring down at him with either love or lust. Hotch is not sure which, but he would already bet the feeling isn’t mutual.

Right away Hotch notices the telling way Andy’s gaze is clearly drawn to the photographer and away from Green. He is a decent actor, but not good enough to fool a profiler. There are over a dozen photo’s, Andy is wearing pants in all of them, and while the intimacy is there, it is carefully crafted and controlled. Even though he sees these for what they most probably are, blackmail photo’s, he is floored by the implications.

Spencer is staring up at him, waiting for him to say something, just as taken aback as Hotch, maybe more.

“What do they mean, Hotch?” he asks in a quiet voice. “And what is all that?” Spencer says with some distaste, referring to the contents of Green’s closet.

“I need to think.” Hotch waves him off, his mind racing through the implications.

“Green was gay…”Hotch muses out loud, after a moment. “I thought he had genuine thing for Garcia. Their flirting was driving Derek crazy.”

Spencer’s forehead creases in thought, eyes flicking over to the closet and back to Hotch. “Really Aaron, sexuality is not as simple as gay or straight, certainly not in this day and age. You need to consider the percentage of the world that identifies as either bi or pansexual as well. If Green were bisexual it would make sense that he could enjoy an intimate relationship with Andy or Garcia, respectively.”

Hotch clears his throat and hopes he isn’t blushing. Spencer continues, oblivious to his boss’ discomfort. 

“Now, it would make even more sense if Green were pansexual. I’ve read that they tend to focus on personality over gender. In theory, that means he could fall in love with anyone, and gender would be only a secondary consideration. I’ve often thought that I might be pansexual, but certainly bi. I would hate to limit myself in something as important as finding the right life partner, based on something as trivial as gender.” Spencer is thoughtful, seemingly unaware that there is a magnitude to what he just divulged.

Hotch chokes on nothing, coughs, and recovers to realize Spencer is staring at him. Their eyes meet and Hotch wants to say what’s on his mind as freely as Spencer just did, but before he can Spencer averts his gaze to the floor and says almost in a whisper…

“You never know who you might fall in with love with if you open your mind to the possibilities.”

Hotch is slow to see the moment for what it is, a break in the wall that Spencer puts up between himself and other people. Years spent learning to protect his emotional wellbeing carefully, mean Spencer’s trust is both hard won and fragile. Hotch scrambles for a response that won’t make Spencer regret letting his guard down.

He could tell him the truth, but Hotch is so practiced at neutralizing his feelings, that put on the spot, he overthinks. Consequently, he can’t find the right words and the moment is lost. Just like that they are back to being just colleagues, standing too close together, in a room that suddenly feels claustrophobic, surrounded by an awkward array of sex toys.

“What I meant was-” Hotch stammers, tamping down his disappointment, “that between the closet full of gay porn, the pictures, and the fact that Amelia was here, are we safe to assume she was blackmailing Green?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This was another doozy! It's not only hard being green, it's also hard being authors. Life keeps finding ways to get in the way of our writing with family, work, school, the stress of the crazy bonkers world! Now on top of that, I will finally be going back to work this week! Yay? I'm not sure... I work at a daycare so I will be stuck with a bunch of kids who have been cooped up for 5 months, yay me? But fear not! Just as TC has persevered through work and family and school to write, I, having only work and family, will also persevere and we will get chapters out as often as we can. 
> 
> We're finally getting into some juicy talk! I don't know what you want to call it. But they're both thinking a lot, and that's good! And before you say poor old Professor Green, keep in mind that the grey haired absentminded professor was getting cozy with an 18 year old... Also, blame TC, she has an insatiable blood lust! haha! uhm... she may kill me for saying that... It's a good thing we live 5hrs apart! Nana nana boo boo! 
> 
> Kudos and comments may slake TCs blood lust, please send help! (or if you really enjoy all the death and destruction and mayhem, just put that in your comments and TC will gladly oblige!)
> 
> Will good prevail or will evil run rampant in the streets of Salt Lake City? Subscribe to be the first to be notified when we post a new chapter! 
> 
> ~CC~


	19. Means

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the end notes!

#### Chapter 19

### Means

Frustrated by the call with Hotch, Dave drops his phone onto his desk, finding himself unable to go back to the stack of paperwork he had been making a dent in before the conversation. He had expected that call to go much differently, unprepared for Hotch’s rather cold dismissal of Kate’s distress, and his pointed refusal to consider Dave’s advice.

Clearly the Amelia Porter case, and Spencer’s attack in particular, are weighing heavily on Hotch. As unit chief he bears responsibility for decisions made in the field, and having to answer for them is surely cause for reflection. However, the calls made in Salt Lake City were justifiable, and the fallout, while unfortunate, was also unforeseeable; all that being the case Dave can’t fathom why Hotch is so eager to place blame and risk tearing the team apart.

When it was decided that the team would fly home, and Hotch would stay behind in Salt Lake City to wrap up the case, Dave was worried, and that worry has grown with every report back. After all, three additional murders, no breaks, and a very dangerous suspect who simply vanishes into thin air, does not read as progress. Dave feels helpless because he isn’t there to offer any assistance, Hotch is on his own, and Dave is not at all sure that allowing Reid to work alongside him in the field, only days after being released from the hospital, is a viable solution. No, none of it is ideal and the only conclusion that Dave can come to is that they, the team, need to get back to the Amelia Porter case and end it once and for all.

With that decision made, Rossi stands up from his desk, heading off to find the others.

* * *

Derek watches as Penelope madly types away at her keyboard, periodically wheeling her chair from one monitor to another, pausing only to jot down notes on hot pink post its, using a purple pen that appears to be made of feathers. Feeling out of place, but needing to both be helpful and hide out, Derek tries to follow what’s going on.

“What exactly is it that you’re doing right now?” Derek asks from where he is perched on the far edge of Garcia’s expansive desk.

“I told you sugar, I am helping Spencer.” Garcia reminds him impatiently, reaching over to gently snatch a troll doll from his hand. “That is an original Thomas Dam troll doll from the 70’s. Please don’t touch, hon.”

She instantly turns back to her screen, frowning as she skims what looks to Derek like an old newspaper article.

“Sorry, but you have all these…toys,” he waves a hand all around him at the cluttered surface. “You don’t ever do anything with them?”

With a sigh she spins her chair around, fixing him with a look. “They make me happy. They are the good things in life, and what I see on here,” she gestures to her computer screen, “is often not so good.”

“I know that, mama.” Derek smiles at her, picking up a beanie kitten that is sporting a unicorn horn. “I just don’t see why I can’t enjoy them too. You don’t want my mind to stay polluted, do you?”

She looks genuinely stricken, when he had only been teasing in an attempt to keep the mood light.

“Oh God no! Of course, you can enjoy them too, I didn’t mean to be selfish.” She leans over to squeeze his hand. “That one you’re holding is Unicorn Kitty. She’s a genuine beanie baby, an original from the fantasy animals’ collection. Just be careful ok?”

Derek supposes that information is meant to add to his joy. Turning back to the computer, Penelope goes back to typing.

“Can you be more specific PG?” He asks, a little frustrated. She keeps saying she’s helping Spencer but won’t tell any of them how. “What are you doing for our boy wonder? I want to help too.”

Fingers pausing on the keyboard, Penelope squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, before spinning back around to face Derek.

“Oh, I want to tell you! I promised Spencer I wouldn’t though, because he thought the big boss man wouldn’t approve…but well, he’s not here right? So, I could tell you, I think? Right?” She puts her hands together under her chin in a prayer like gesture, eyes locked on Derek for approval.

He stands up, walking over to take Penelope’s face in both hands so he can lean down and kiss the top of her head. “Baby girl, you can trust me. I only want to help. So, please tell Big Daddy all your secrets.”

He laughs loudly, darting out of reach as she tries to pinch him. “Ew Derek!” She shouts, laughing, but sobering immediately.

Penelope looks past Derek, ensuring that they’re alone, before motioning him to sit in the other chair.

“Back in Salt Lake City, when he was still in that hospital bed looking so hurt, so broken, and brave…” Penelope takes a second to blink away tears just thinking about it. “Spencer asked me to dig into Amelia’s past. He thought she had to have committed other crimes, other murders, maybe even before what happened with Benton. He wanted to know about her time on the run, what she had done with all those years. He really thought it would help.”

Derek nods. It’s a solid idea, but they had already come up empty handed at the beginning of this case. It was the reason the team had to split up and cover separate locations. If they had known more at the time, if there had been more to know, they would have stuck together, and Amelia never would have gotten the best of them.

“You already did that though.” Derek points out, a little off put. “I mean we needed to know more before we went after her, but I’m not sure it matters now.”

Penelope is instantly and obviously offended. “I had no time then, Derek! Hotch was breathing down my neck, basically tapping his foot waiting for an answer and giving me ridiculously little to go on!”

Turning away to hide her tears, and how truly hurt she is, she puts up a hand to stop Derek when he goes to speak.

“Its not fair! I did the best I could and it kills me that it wasn’t good enough!” She chokes out reaching for the box of tissues on the desk beside her.

Derek is horrified to have upset her like this.

“God, Garcia no!” Derek has to work to pull her into his arms because she is resistant. “That is not what I meant. I am so sorry it came out like that.”

Petting her hair around the kitty ears headband she’s wearing, Derek hugs her to his chest, and chides himself for being an insensitive jerk.

“I really am sorry, PG. I had no right.” Derek says softly. “Really.” He pulls back a little, using his thumbs to wipe tears and mascara from under her eyes.

Sniffling, Penelope sits up straight reaching for some more tissues, and Derek worries she won’t continue.

“Seriously, let’s start over and pretend I wasn’t just a total ass, who made you cry. Please, tell me what you’ve been working on.” Derek says, pulling her back into another quick hug.

She nods and blows her nose.

“Well, I started with Amelia’s childhood but there wasn’t very much to go on. Nothing out of the ordinary anyway. She was a good student, not much of a joiner, but also never in trouble.” Clicking a few buttons, Garcia brings up a yearbook photo of a young Amelia, long dark hair combed over her shoulder, eyes staring directly into the camera, bright smile on her face. She was undeniably beautiful, but also very normal.

“She went to high school with Benton’s sister Miriam, but we knew that already.” Penelope continues, still wiping at her eyes. “I have searched online for social media accounts in both Amelia Porter and Sarah Ward’s names and came up with nothing. The woman seems to stay away from the internet on purpose, which is good for her because I have found virtually nothing, except this…”

Derek watches as Garcia searches through folders, before clicking on a file that displays an image of what looks like the winners of a high school track meet. At least, the photo is taken on a track field, with a large school building in the background. There are six boys front and center, all proudly displaying medals and ribbons, the rest of their teams gathered behind them, crowded together to fit into the frame. He waits for Garcia to explain.

“Ok, so backstory! I searched day and night through crime scene photos and police reports, seriously the amount of caffeine I drank has to be experimental…anyway, I stuck to the areas where Amelia was sighted during the years she was off the grid and I did not come up with much. The few possibles I found I made into files and I gave them to Spencer, just hoping he would find some comfort in reading them over and feeling like he was doing something.” She looks ashamed when she says it, and Derek understands. In reality she hadn’t found anything, but she couldn’t bear to tell Spencer that. Not when he was lying in a hospital bed, looking for any shred of hope.

“I assume there’s more?” Derek asks, knowing there must be a twist here.

“Maybe! Yes!” Penelope exclaims, “I can’t be sure yet, but hear me out. So, one of the files I gave Spencer was on a seventeen-year-old boy who committed suicide in 2006, in the North West Territories, after engaging in a relationship with a mystery woman, the very same year that Amelia was possibly sighted there. I had tried all sorts of search parameters, in all sorts of combinations, and this story came up, and I really wasn’t hopeful because the boy was described as suicidal, and his death was ruled a suicide, so no reason to insert Amelia into the puzzle right?” Penelope pauses for affect, waiting for Derek to acknowledge that he is keeping up.

“Anyway, when I went back to the drawing board, I started taking a second look at everything in case I missed any teeny, tiny, minute, hidden detail that would give me some sort of lead to go on. And I got this!” Penelope waves at the screen, and using the mouse, zooms past the track team, away from the bleachers behind them, off to one side, where she zooms in even further.

Derek leans forward to squint at the screen, unsure what he’s looking at exactly.

“Right there!” Penelope points excitedly with one long, hot pink fingernail. “That is Amelia Porter, at a high school track meet, in the North West Territories, in 2006! Get it?! I ran facial recognition software and everything, which was no easy feat but that’s beside the point…do you know who attended this very high school, played track, and was at this very meet?”

“Well you run track, not play it sweetheart,” Derek says slowly, trying to take the whole convoluted story in and process what it meant. “And no, I don’t know, who?”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Ryan August, the boy who committed suicide after dating a mystery woman!”

Derek thinks about that, rolling it over in his mind, before replying with some apprehension.

“Even if that is Amelia in the picture, it looks like a big meet, lots of locals, she could just be one of the crowd, baby girl.” He doesn’t want to bring her down, but he also doesn’t want to waste time. “I mean it’s definitely something, but as far as the kid…what do you think she had to do with that?”

Penelope looks frustrated with his response. She takes a deep breath before responding.

“I’m not sure, Spencer seemed interested, but it is a big deal Derek! This is a photo of Amelia. It is proof that she was in Canada in 2006, and that is more than anyone knew before!” She defends herself.

Derek holds up his hands to stave off her outrage. He can only imagine how hard she worked at this and how frustrating the search had been. He in no way wants to diminish that. Or under any circumstances, ever, make her cry again.

“You’re absolutely right, as usual mama.” Derek smiles, reaching out to rub her leg. “You are a genius, who should be celebrated worldwide, but we were fortunate enough to recruit you first. You always amaze me, girl.”

She scoffs with a smile on her face. “I am certainly a technological genius, and the best hacker you could ever hope to meet, Derek Morgan. You are simply lucky I use my considerable talent for good, and not for posting pics on your Facebook that would destroy any hope you have of a future career in politics.” She says winking at him, as she places her hand on top of his.

Derek laughs again, though he files that threat away in the back of his mind. Penelope Garcia is not to be messed with.

“We should tell the others, huh?” He asks, even though the last thing he wants at the moment is to deal with Callahan and Rossi.

“I told you so you could decide. Is that what you think we should do?” Penelope asks.

“I do, because I think we have been underutilizing our most valuable asset.” He tells her honestly. “We don’t need to be in Salt Lake City to help the boy wonder and our fearless leader. We can do it from right here, so let’s go fill in the team.”

* * *

“What would Green have that Amelia wanted?” Spencer asks into the uncomfortable silence that has fallen over the car, as they journey to Draper to visit the prison.

“That is the question,” Hotch replies, not having been able to formulate an answer as of yet.

“Honestly, it appears as though she was every bit as experienced at cultivating rare plants as he was, so it seems unlikely she needed his help with that.” Spencer thinks out loud, glancing at Hotch from the corner of this eye. The older man looks tense, back ramrod straight, eyes never leaving the road in front of him, even though they are on a long straightaway.

“I agree. There had to be more to it than that. Stumbling onto the knowledge that Green was gay is one thing, but she went to a lot of trouble be sure she had pictures that could destroy his career. She was keeping him honest.” Hotch offers. “Were they in business together? I mean the poppies, the hybridizing?”

“Risky for her to take on a partner, so why do it? Maybe he had connections? To the cartel? Mafia? That’s who could make use of undetectable poisons, or a better, purer form of Heroin right?” Spencer works through all the possibilities in his head.

Hotch looks grim at the prospect of organized crime being involved, but it was looking more probable by the minute.

“It stands to reason that she would need a market for her work.” Hotch replies. “Where do you think our humble professor acquired mob connections though?”

“We should ask Garcia to look into it.” Spencer suggests. “Maybe he said something of interest to her when they were working together.”

“Doubtful.” Hotch states. “But we will reach out to her after we finish at the prison.”

Spencer feels like Hotch has been short with him since their conversation in Green’s bedroom, and he wants to groan loudly, thinking back to when he all but propositioned his boss, being far more honest than he had any cause to be. He hadn’t meant to say so much, it had just slipped out, even seemed natural under the circumstances…but then Hotch had just stared at him like he had grown a second head, and completely brushed him off. Sighing, he turns his attention to where they are turning into their destination.

The Utah State Prison, located in Draper, a short drive from Salt Lake City, is impressive with giant guard tower, eighteen-foot fences, and a massive main building, the facility sprawling across many acres. Spencer knows it was built in 1951 to replace the old Sugar House Prison, and that it houses over 4,000 inmates currently. It is backed by a spectacular mountain view, and Spencer can’t help but think it’s a bit of waste, since no one comes here for the express purpose of enjoying the scenery.

Hotch pulls into an employee lot, parking and shutting the car off, then sitting silently for long enough that Spencer begins to hope he is going to say something profound and unrelated to work; something that will make Spencer feel better about spilling his guts back at Green’s, and validate the feelings that he has kept to himself for so long. He waits, barely daring to breathe, trying to allow Hotch a chance to process without interruption.

“Are you ready to do this? It will be a lot of walking.” Hotch says finally, and Spencer feels his gut twist, as he lets annoyance counter the disappointment he is sure would otherwise be written all over his face.

Turning away to conceal his hurt, Spencer replies, “I’ll manage.”

A very telling sigh from Hotch, as he backtracks a little. “I’m going to help. I was asking about the pain and how you’re feeling. That’s all Reid.”

“And I said I’ll manage.” Spencer retorts, with more edge than he intended. “Don’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with, Hotch.”

Hotch has the nerve to look taken aback before responding. “Spencer, whatever you are thinking, now is not the time and I am not your enemy. Please don’t make this hard.”

Spencer takes a deep breath, endeavoring to ignore the knot forming in his chest at Hotch’s dismissal. Again. Hotch is right though, he is not the enemy, and they do have a real enemy they need to focus on. He takes another deep breath, reminding himself this is his own fault; if you put your feelings out there, people can use them against you. He’s known that all his life.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Hotch. All I said was that I can manage. Let’s go.”

Hotch opens his mouth to say more, then thinks better of it, nods curtly and moves to get out of the SUV to go around to Spencer’s side.

In the last few days, Hotch has become well practiced at acting as a crutch for Spencer, shoring him up and allowing him to lean on him however he needs. In tune and familiar with one another, Spencer has felt comfortable enough taking advantage of Hotch’s support to minimize his discomfort. Now though, Spencer swears there is a break in their rhythm, as Hotch overthinks where to put his hands, and misses Spencer’s cues to support him while he slides down from the SUV onto the ground. Stumbling, when Hotch is not in the right spot to steady him, Spencer regains his balance with effort, gasping at the pain that shoots up his leg, and all through his torso, as he clutches the car door in order to stay standing.

Startled by Spencer’s hard landing, Hotch overcompensates and pulls Spencer toward him, causing another jolt of pain that Spencer can barely tolerate. Forcing himself to breathe, Spencer hisses through his teeth, unable to do anything but wait for the throbbing to recede enough that he can move again.

“Shit, I’m sorry Spencer.” Hotch swears, moving back a little to give Spencer space, steadying him now, with a grip on his good shoulder, using his other hand to anxiously pull through his hair.

“Ok, it’s fine Hotch. Just give me one second.” Spencer manages to choke out through a wave of nausea.

It takes a long few minutes for Spencer to recover enough to take the cane Hotch is offering, and he badly wants the man to simply put his arm around him and pull him against his side so he can feel more stable, like he has in the past. Instead, Hotch just hovers, and Spencer has to ask him to come closer so that he isn’t so afraid he’s going to fall flat on his face, with no one near enough to catch him.

The trek to the building is long, with Spencer shuffling slowly along, but they navigate security with no issue, and are told the warden is expecting them. A guard appears to show them the way through the long winding corridors where no one smiles, intent on maintaining their tough persona’s it seems, even when they are away from the prisoners. The guard is eager to usher them into the office, as if he would rather not be seen with them, and Spencer is too grateful to be able sit down to even care.

Hotch remains standing, slowly pacing, expressionless as he takes in the décor, likely coming to the same conclusions as Spencer, who is performing the same assessment from his seat.

The warden is untidy, likely accustomed to a wife cleaning up after him at home, and lacking the inspiration to do it for himself. Spencer observes the many framed photos adorning the walls, mainly of the warden playing football on a college team. Probably his glory days, and he hasn’t had many since graduating, Spencer thinks derisively. Comparatively, there are only a few family photos, all of them sitting on the desk, not displayed prominently on the walls. The shelves hold a variety of law books, and Spencer concludes that the man likely aspired to be a lawyer, only falling into his current career when he failed to make it to law school. The wide range of knick-knacks aimed at stress relief and relaxation, make Spencer think that the warden is likely deep in debt, a leading cause of stress. Probably regretting his life choices too, so he pretends that his stress is not a result of his incompetence, but rather just something all people experience equally.

Leaning forward, Spencer flicks the Newton’s cradle on the desk into motion and continues to survey the room. Spencer has never thought much of jocks, and he doesn’t think much of the warden. The multiple trophies, and team paraphernalia that pass as decorations fail to impress, and the more he looks around the more he thinks the warden peaked a long time ago and has not been good at anything since. Certainly not keeping his prison safe.

Before Spencer can come to anymore conclusions based on his office alone, the door opens and the warden himself steps in, straightening his tie, and looking generally ill at ease. Hotch moves immediately to greet him, shaking his hand and introducing himself. Spencer, as always, declines to shake and only nods when Hotch introduces him as his partner, Dr. Reid.

“So, just tell me what I can help you with,” the warden clears his throat and gets right to the point as he moves to sit behind his desk. Putting a physical barrier between himself and Hotch, so definitely intimidated, Spencer nods to himself. “Like I told the other agent, I am sincerely sorry you were not contacted about Farland immediately. Everything happened so quickly.”

Spencer narrows his eyes, thinking how inelegant the warden is, stumbling over words and insincere apologies, while failing to provide any pertinent information. The man won’t make eye contact, and Spencer can see the sheen of sweat on his mostly bald head from across the desk. Maybe he feels guilty. He should. He cost them the chance to talk to Benton, and Spencer can’t shake the feeling that Benton had more to offer, lots more, even if he didn’t know it himself. Spencer wanted to ask him how it felt to be close to Amelia, what it was like to love her and fear her at the same time, to know why he let her lead him down such a terrible path in the first place.

Spencer speaks up before Hotch can, pulling himself up in his chair and narrowing his eyes on the warden.

“We would like to speak to the guard who supervised Benton’s visit right before he was killed.” He emphasizes the word killed, leaning in to stare the warden down. “We would also like to know why you allowed Andy Farland, who was wanted by police, to walk in and out of here with no questions asked?”

Hotch says nothing out loud, but he clears his throat and pins Spencer with a meaningful look that Spencer ignores.

“It was an oversight, I assure you!” The warden is quick to exclaim. His gaze flits to Hotch, while he refuses to maintain eye contact with Spencer. “Andy Farland was on the previous list, so security let him through. There was no reason to check for an APB on him.”

“There was every reason!” Spencer insists. “Have you eliminated all of your staff, and your kitchens as the source of the poison?”

“Everyone has been questioned, of course. Everyone is screened going in and out.” The warden defends. “There was no one on my staff with any connection to Benton Farland, or any reason to kill him.”

“I have heard money can be very motivating.” Spencer offers, drawing himself up in his seat again. “It wouldn’t be the first time-“

“Warden,” Hotch cuts in, shooting Spencer a warning look. “We are only here to find out what happened, and we appreciate your cooperation. Can we have access to your surveillance footage?”

The warden glances at Spencer, but only briefly, before addressing his response to Hotch. Reading the dynamic and deciding Hotch is in charge, Spencer thinks, which irks him, but he’s used to it. Standing, the warden runs a hand over his balding head, before buttoning his jacket and motioning to Hotch only.

“I can take you to meet with Jared, he supervised the visit. He’s on shift today.” The warden turns to Spencer and makes a gesture toward the chair he just vacated. “I can set you up with my log in and you can go through the security footage right here, from my computer.”

As far as Spencer knew he and Hotch hadn’t been planning on splitting up, and Spencer was annoyed that it was the warden who suggested it. He got the distinct impression that the warden preferred to deal with Hotch, and he would strongly object if his leg weren’t so sore, and he didn’t badly want to avoid a speed walk through the massive facility.

Hotch looks doubtfully at Spencer, but Spencer waves him off.

“That sounds fine.” Spencer assures. “Go on, you can fill me in when you get back.”

* * *

The warden didn’t have a lot to say to Hotch on their winding walk through the employee section of the enormous prison building, beyond a few more muttered apologies. It doesn’t make any difference now, as far as Hotch is concerned, and fighting with the warden won’t help them resolve the case and find Amelia, which is all that matters.

Eventually they end up in a large lunchroom, unoccupied except for a stocky, dark-haired man, seated alone at a table by the wall of windows, looking extremely anxious. He is bouncing his leg under the table, and biting at the cuticles on his left hand, head snapping toward them as soon as they enter. Hotch would put him at no more than twenty-five, inexperienced, likely fresh out of college, and it could explain how Andy Farland was able to pass poison to Benton undetected.

The warden is quick to offer introductions.

“Jared, this is Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner from the FBI. He wants to talk to you about the visit you supervised last week between Benton and Andy Farland, as you know.”

Jared stands to shake hands and Hotch accepts, then motions him to sit back down, while taking the seat across from him. Hotch needs to appear friendly and relatively informal, in the hopes of putting the younger man at ease. Spencer would have been a better fit for this interview, closer to the guards age and less intimidating, but he seems off today, snapping at the warden and being generally unfriendly. Hotch wasn’t keen on throwing him into an interview that may require diplomacy.

Knowing surveillance will confirm the method used to poison Benton, what he really wants from Jared is to know what Andy and Benton talked about during the visit. He wants to know if the conversation had anything to do with Amelia, but he will have to tread lightly because it’s obvious that Jared is afraid of losing his job. So, with the warden still in the corner of the room, he won’t be easily forthcoming.

“First of all, I appreciate your talking to me today, we are just trying to get a clear picture of Benton Farlands morning before he was taken to hospital.” Hotch keeps his tone neutral, and his body language relaxed, watching as Jared’s eyes dart to the warden where he is standing watch. “What was the mood like? Did they argue?”

Jared swallows hard, biting at his bottom lip, collecting his thoughts before answering.

“No, it was the opposite. Farland-I mean Benton- he was a bit uptight at first, but he loosened up when Andy started talking.” Jared stares at Hotch, barely blinking.

“What did he talk about?” Hotch prompts.

“Um…well Benton started to apologize right away, but I didn’t get to hear what all for, because Andy cut him off. He said none of that mattered anymore and they needed to move on.” Jared’s forehead creases as he crosses his arms over his abdomen, and Hotch thinks he is deciding when to start lying.

“Ok.” Hotch says neutrally, then waits for Jared to continue.

“Benton agreed, and he said they would always be family no matter what. Said he was planning to plead guilty to all the charges against him, try and atone for all he had done. He used that word. Atone.” Jared recalls, shuffling his feet, crossing and uncrossing his legs.

“How did Andy react to that?” Hotch is not sure if Jared is being intentionally vague, but he needs details.

Jared shoots another nervous look to the warden and clears his throat before answering.

“He just repeated that it didn’t matter anymore. After that they just talked back and forth. It was a bit sad and stuff, with Benton going away and all, but nothing unusual.” Jared nods to himself, approving his own story.

“I’m looking for specifics, Jared.” Hotch leans further forward, placing himself in closer proximity. “What exactly was sad?”

Hotch has been paying close attention, and he is certain now that this guard looked the other way when Andy passed something to Benton. He did it because he was empathetic, the “sad and stuff” comment tipping him to that. The relationship between these two, Andy and Benton, touched a nerve with Jared, probably because he had a brother he was close to and separated from. Possibly by an ongoing feud, a divorce maybe, but more likely an untimely death.

Jared clears his throat again, then nods slightly before answering.

“Andy told him not to worry, that he and Rebecca were going away, that they would stick together, make a life. He said he had help.” Jared recalls, looking over toward the window, obviously wishing he could escape this conversation. “That really got Benton going, like he nearly grabbed Andy across the table, but he looked over at me and stopped himself. Then he said ‘Go on your own Andy. You’re not going to her. Promise me you aren’t’…he sounded really desperate like, and I thought it was weird because why would he want them to go on their own if they had someone?”

It is a real question, and Hotch shrugs a little. “I’m not sure, Jared.” He was absolutely sure. “Was there anything else?”

“Andy got real quiet after he said that. I thought he was mad and gonna yell, but then…” Jared trails off, eyes once again going to the warden.

“Jared,” Hotch makes his voice serious but not stern. “I need the truth. It is extremely important you tell me everything.”

Jared frowns, worry creasing his face, as he speaks after some thought.

“He took this bracelet off his wrist and went to hand it to Benton. He looked over at me first, and I shouldn’t have let him, damn it! I should have taken it, but it was all so…sad. I mean I knew the story from the news, Benton was going away, the kid had lost so many people…I know what that’s like.” Jared is rambling, and he reaches up to rub at his face almost angrily. “It wasn’t a big deal! But now I’m explaining it all to the FBI so it is!”

It was a big deal, Hotch is sure, but he feels very real sympathy for the man all the same. The blame doesn’t rest on him, it rests on Amelia, and Jared is just another person run over by her agenda.

“What kind of bracelet?” Hotch asks, when Jared takes a deep breath, trying to get control again. Jared seems annoyed by the question.

“Like a friendship bracelet I think you’d call it. The girls were always making them in elementary school and giving them to each other. They’re colorful and made out of string or whatever.”

Hotch nods his understanding, letting Jared continue.

“So, he takes it off his own wrist and says that his mother made it for him, and now he wants Benton to have it. As proof that there are no more hard feelings. Those were Andy’s exact words.” Jared divulges. “Benton got all teary and said no, that Andy should keep it, but he insisted. Said if they never saw each other again he didn’t want Benton to ever doubt that he believed him.”

Jared turns away to collect himself, but only for a moment. Hotch is interested in the last statement. If Andy really believed Benton didn’t kill his mother, then what did he believe was Amelia’s role? Andy was either a very good actor or a sociopath himself.

“Then he takes a bracelet off his other wrist, Andy I mean, and says that this one belongs to Benton. That his mom told him about how she made it for her little brother before she went away to college, as a promise that she would be back. Benton doesn’t even object this time, he’s crying for real now, and Andy goes to tie them both on his wrists.” Jared takes a deep breath. “I let him. I let them. There was no harm!”

If it was indeed Andy who did the poisoning it had to be have been the bracelets, is what goes through Hotch's head.

“I need you to really think, Jared. Did Andy say anything else?” Hotch asks. “Where he was going, or when he planned to leave? Who he was meeting maybe?”

“The only name he mentioned was Rebecca, and I think that was his sister.” Jared says.

“What happened after he gave Benton the bracelets?” Hotch pursues.

“Nothing. Andy told him not to worry about them, that he would write even if he couldn’t visit, and then he said he had to go.” Jared reiterates. “The whole visit was around twenty minutes. Maybe less. That’s it, and after Benton was just really quiet. Didn’t make any trouble or anything.”

Hotch is disappointed. Nothing about Amelia, no clear idea of what Andy had planned, or even if he knew what he was doing when he gave those bracelets to Benton. When he came to Salt Lake City to chase down a killer, Hotch had had no idea what they were unleashing, and now he’s afraid there is no way to stop her.

* * *

Returning to the warden’s office, Hotch finds Spencer concentrating on the computer screen in front of him, seated exactly where he left him not long ago. Knowing Spencer must have already viewed the fateful visit, Hotch is hoping he will be able to answer some of the questions that his interview with the guard brought up.

“Did you get through all the footage?” Hotch asks, as he steps back into the room.

Looking up, Spencer nods.

“Yes, it’s a pretty simple system,” Spencer replies, turning to Hotch as he reaches up with his right hand to rub his opposite shoulder, carefully, around the healing wound there. “Did you get anything useful from the guard?”

“Nothing we can use I don’t think. Andy never mentioned Amelia, or at least not by name.” Hotch informs him. “He let Andy give Benton a bracelet, well two bracelets, and that was all that changed hands between them.”

Spencer nods. “Yes, that’s the only thing on the video too. The bracelets would have to be the mode of delivery for the poison, but I’m not sure it’s possible. We can have them analyzed to find out for sure.”

“If that’s the case, how was Andy able to wear them without being poisoned himself?” Truthfully Hotch has no doubt that it was Andy that killed Benton, it’s only the motive and means that has him guessing.

“Vaseline?” Spencer offers. “Or some other kind of barrier cream? It would only have to work long enough to get in and out.”

It was the same question Spencer had been asking himself, and the only answer he could come up with. In truth the surveillance footage hadn’t put them any further ahead. Spencer watched Andy breeze through security unquestioned, and marveled that not one guard had watched the news that morning and put two and two together. Besides the bracelets being an interesting and unexpected means of delivery for a poison that Spencer was certain Amelia manufactured, they were no closer to locating her, or even understanding Andy’s role in the big picture.

“Well it isn’t a lot more to go on, but we need to exhaust all of our leads.” Hotch placates, sensing Spencer’s ever-increasing frustration. “We need to head to the hospital now, then I think we should go back to the hotel and put together our notes to see where we stand.”

Spencer knows this is Hotch’s way of telling him that they are done for the day, without outright making it an order. He would like to skip the hospital but knows that Hotch won’t stand for it, and with forced leave hanging over his head he has no choice but to go. He won’t jeopardize his ability to work the case and be left wondering if he could have done more.

He flashes back to Amelia’s words in the shed…people will die because you won’t be able to find me…

He has to hang on to the hope that that just isn’t true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crickets chirping* Uhh... Sorry guys... Totally my bad for that ridiculous hiatus, all the blame is on me, not TC. So if you must send angry characters, send them to me, I'm sorry. I will do my best to stay on track and help TC more. 
> 
> The team has returned! We love Hotch and Spence, obviously, but we thought we needed to bring back their amazing team to help them out. Maybe with them back in the game we'll finally get that pesky Amelia, or not. Who knows? ...well I guess TC and I should... haha
> 
> We missed all of your lovely comments and we thank you all for sticking by us, there will not be that long of a hiatus again. I am very sorry. 
> 
> Keep us honest and keep us motivated, send your comments and kudos! 
> 
> Also be sure to subscribe so that you can be the first to be notified when we update! 
> 
> ~CC~


	20. Progression and Retrogression

#### Chapter 20

### Progression and Retrogression

Kate is the only person in the bullpen when Dave comes looking for her. Alone at her desk, she appears to be concentrating on what she’s reading, but Dave isn’t fooled. He’s sure her sudden interest in expense reports is an avoidance strategy, rather than a career change.

“Kate, join me.” He says jovially, as he approaches her desk and perches on the edge. “I’m on my way to the conference room to join the others. It’s high time we all turn our attention to the Amelia Porter case and how we can help from here.”

Without looking up Kate replies warily.

“Dave I would like to help but let’s be honest, I won’t be welcome.”

Dave expected this, but they will never make things right with the team by brooding in separate rooms. They need to set aside their personal issues and look at the bigger picture, which for them, means solving cases.

“You are a member of the team. As a team we are going to formulate a plan, and therefore you need to be present”

“Look Dave, I appreciate what you’re doing but I’m fine here. Working on my paperwork.” It is more of a plea than a statement. Kate wants to agree with his logic, but she knows better; at best it will be a cold reception in the conference room.

“That may be, but Amelia Porter takes priority over your paperwork and your comfort.” Dave insists, firmly but not unkindly. “The others will meet us there.”

Kate stays seated, her demeanor changing to reflect all the hard feelings she’s holding onto. She’s not keen on giving them another chance to interrogate and reject her.

“They want someone to blame, and what happened was not all on me Dave! I’m getting tired of apologizing.” She insists.

“It’s not you and them, Kate.” Dave sighs, shifting to face her directly. “It’s us. Just us as a team. We are strongest together and it will take all of us to get Aaron and Reid back home.”

Dave is not an ignorant man and he is not without concerns about the team dynamic, and the harsh words that have been thrown around. Nor is he under any illusion that Kate is wrong. He wouldn’t be a very good profiler if he missed how angry Derek is, or how hesitant JJ is to make a move that isn’t loyal to Reid, or how desperate Garcia is to find a fix. But he is also aware that Kate has one foot out the door and that is not a solution. Stay or go there will be an effect on everyone, there will be lingering slights and unresolved feelings that will distract from the task at hand, and they cannot afford distraction now.

Kate hasn’t responded, but she does lean back in her chair to study him. She looks exhausted, he feels exhausted but now is the time to rally. They are the best and most effective team in the BAU, and they need to start acting like it.

“So, my going with you isn’t just rubbing salt in everyone’s wounds?” Kate asks. He can see the hurt in her eyes. “I would be just as thrilled as them to finish the Amelia Porter case, to have her put away where she can’t do any more harm. I’m just as shaken by what happened to Reid as they are! But I’m the only one who can’t show it, because they think it’s my fault. And yours too, Dave! So im asking again if you’re sure we will be welcome?”

“It’s a fair question, Kate.” Dave concedes reaching over to place a hand on her crossed arms. “Maybe we won’t be, but I’m confident in one thing and that is that the team, the whole team, wants to solve this case and no one will sabotage our chances of doing that.”

Kate’s lips form a thin line as she takes that in, nodding finally. “Did you know they’re already working on it? Where do you think they all are?”

Dave hadn’t known that, but their goal is the same as his, so without missing a beat he pulls Kate to her feet.

“All the more reason for us to get going then.” He replies firmly. “Now come on, time waits for no man.”

* * *

Derek was unenthusiastic about tracking Rossi and Callahan down to include them, but Garcia had given him her disappointed look, complete with disapproving frown. He hates when she does that, and knowing she wants peace and everyone to get along, he concedes. He doesn’t truly think peace is an option without some truth from Rossi but getting Amelia takes precedence over the rift, and in any case Derek can’t refuse Penelope after making her cry.

It takes some time to assemble everyone but its less than an hour before they are ready to roll, lunch ordered and on the conference table in front of them, Penelope muttering under her breath about the quality of technology the FBI can afford versus what they supply.

Complaints aside, in minutes she is pulling up the slightly blurry, zoomed in photo of Amelia on the large screen and smiling triumphantly at her expectant audience.

“In my spare time, my sleep time, and in addition to any official FBI work,” Penelope starts, with a sidelong look at Dave, who holds his hands up in mock surrender, “I have been delving deep and deeper still to track Amelia Porter on her flight from justice, and shed some light on how she passed the time.”

Penelope pulls a face at the last sentence, as she turns to point at the picture of Amelia, extracted from the larger group shot of the track meet teams. Appearing as just another face in the crowd Amelia gives nothing away with her stance and body language. She looks to be at ease watching the proceedings without a care in the world. Would she have cared if she knew she was in the photo? Derek wasn’t sure.

“I struck out on almost every front, credit cards, social media, DMV records…truly the woman went invisible!” Penelope is saying, “but, this photo you see on my screen, and also on your tablets if you brought them, is Amelia Porter, at a high school track meet, in the city of Fort Smith, in the North West Territories of Canada, in the year 2006!”

Pausing to catch her breath and allow everyone in the room to get up to speed, Garcia waits for the inevitable questions. She gives Derek a smile as her eyes fall to him, and he smiles back reassuringly. Her information is good, and she is the only one of them to make any progress on this case so far. As always, Derek is impressed by her ability to find a needle in a haystack.

Across the table Dave is squinting at the large screen, having not brought his tablet. Derek doesn’t miss the fact that they are still divided, Dave and Kate on one side, JJ and himself on the other. Penelope has remained the most neutral party throughout with her love conquers all philosophy, frowning even now at the controlled tension in the room.

“How can you be sure it’s her?” Dave asks bluntly, and Derek bristles but Penelope is unfazed.

“The best facial recognition software FBI money can buy, and the best they can buy is the best there is.” Penelope is quick to respond having been ready for that question.

“I’m impressed, Penelope.” JJ says eyes on her tablet. “Really, this is great. It’s a place to start, but I get the impression there’s more?”

“Sure is!” Garcia flips to the next picture, this one the zoomed-out photo of the whole track team. “Now bear with me before passing judgement, my lovelies.” She reaches up to point to a skinny blond kid, not one of the medal winners, but in the foreground with the rest of his team. He is crammed into the back of the group wearing green and gold uniforms, and he is not smiling.

“This is Ryan August, and sadly he committed suicide not long after this track meet took place. Now, his parents described him as introverted, socially awkward, suffering from depression, and admit he had talked of suicide. Sounds clear cut, I know, but they also mentioned a mystery woman that Ryan had started dating not long before his…well demise. They never met her, never laid eyes on her in fact, but they said for a time their son was happy. Like a different person, his mom told the local police. She said she was glad she got to see him smiling one last time before…” Penelope informs the room, choking up on the last sentence and accepting the tissue Derek hands her.

Kate speaks up next, lifting her gaze from the tablet in her hands, after leaving reasonable time for the somber news to settle.

“You think the mystery woman was Amelia,” she acknowledges slowly. “And that she had something to do with this boy’s death? Why the connection?”

“Well," Derek cuts in, directing a hard look at Kate. “Ryan was seventeen, same as Benton was when he hooked up with Amelia. Plus, they were both loners with mental health issues. Easy prey for her.”

Kate looks apprehensive but she speaks up again. “Yes, but that’s where the similarities end. Benton wasn’t a suicidal youth that Amelia picked out to prey on, it was a totally different dynamic. Benton had a terrible childhood and was likely hell bent on revenge even before Amelia entered into things. She may have encouraged him, even been a driving force, but Benton was suffering from psychosis in his own right, Derek. He was more sinister than a sad kid having trouble fitting in, he was primed and ready to buy what Amelia was selling. Whatever her motives, I doubt she’s just a sucker for sad kids who need a friend.”

“She’s a narcissist, Kate, so he would fulfill her need for attention, bolster her ego and he wouldn’t be likely to talk if he was infatuated with her.” Derek counters. “You said it yourself, we don’t know what motivated her to start a relationship with Benton, or to help him kill Miriam. We can’t rule anything out with our current profile, we need more, and this is a huge coincidence.”

“Is it?” Kate questions, leaning forward in her chair. “They’re two people in the same city, that’s about it as far as I can see.”

“A city with a population of only two thousand, Kate!” Derek fires back.

“Regardless!” JJ interrupts loudly, steering the conversation back to the task at hand. “It’s a good lead Kate. This is a picture of Amelia, and that’s big. Someone in that little town has got to have known her and be able to give us an alias to work with.”

Kate sits back, pressing her lips together, opting to say nothing more.

“So, let’s make a plan. Where do we go from here?” Dave cuts in, looking around the table at everyone in turn, trying to forge ahead. “And who wants to visit the Canadian North in winter?”

Penelope clears her throat from where she is still standing looking unsure of herself. It bugs the hell out of Derek that this case has even Garcia doubting herself, and it rankles that it was Kate questioning her information, but before he can say anything she straightens her shoulders, adjusts her fairy themed cardigan and answers Dave with confidence.

“I would rather avoid the Canadian North if I can and I have lots of other information to sift through to see what shakes out. Police reports, validating sightings, security footage and so on. I would like to make that my focus without distractions while we don’t have another case.” Garcia states firmly, and Derek knows how fed up she is with being pulled away from her work on the Amelia Porter case for other FBI business. He knows that Penelope believes all the infighting and upset will go away if they find Amelia; that Reid will be ok, Hotch will come back, and things will go back to normal. That’s what motivates her, and while its admirable, Derek isn’t sure things will ever be exactly the same.

“Absolutely, my lady.” Rossi answers, getting to his feet and grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Until I hear otherwise from Hotch or Cruz this is our only case, and we are pouring all of resources into it. Now let’s divide up the work. Garcia?”

“Some of you could look into suicides that fit the same criteria as Ryan August. Stick to the cities where Amelia Porter was sighted. It may be a long shot, but I think it’s worthwhile, especially if we identify a pattern.” She nods to Kate as she says it.” “There is so much paper to go through, I could use help whittling it down too.”

“I can contact the locals in Fort Smith and arrange to fly out tonight.” JJ offers, sliding her tablet into its case. “If Derek wants to help Penelope, Kate and I can head to Canada.”

“Sounds good,” Dave agrees, ready to breeze out of the room. “I will check in with Aaron, update him and see where they’re at. I will also keep Cruz off our back in case he has designs on our time. Excellent work Garcia, you have given us purpose. Everyone, work diligently and check in often.”

* * *

If Hotch had been expecting reassurance from the hospital visit he didn’t get it. First it was the vascular surgeon voicing his concerns about the slow healing of Spencer’s leg, indicators of arterial graft failure and the possible need for further surgery. Next, the general surgeon gave a gloomy rundown on nerve damage in Spencer’s neck and shoulder, admitting that it was likely more extensive than he had originally hoped. The physiotherapist joined them to say she had expected more progress, that she did not think Spencer was keeping up with the exercises and should reconsider a rehab facility. This at least garnered a response from the younger agent, who up until that point, had been stubbornly silent, refusing to participate in a discussion.

Spencer sat suddenly straight and turned a panicked gaze on Hotch.

“No, that’s not an option!” He practically shouted, eyes never leaving Hotch. “Right? We talked about me going home with you. As soon as we wrap up the case right?”

Reaching out to put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, Hotch quickly assured the doctors that that wouldn’t be necessary. Even as he said it, he wondered if it was true though. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried, or that he understood Spencer’s motives for attempting to hide his pain and jeopardize his recovery.

They finished the appointment with Spencer denying that he was having any trouble, rejecting the idea of a sling for his arm, and questioning the validity of physiotherapy as a practice in general.

Now, back at the SUV waiting for Spencer to climb in the truck, Hotch’s concern is only growing. He can see that Spencer is struggling, all he wants to do is help, but he’s losing patience. He has been nothing but understanding since the hospital, he has facilitated Spencer’s desire to work the case, stayed in cursed Salt Lake City to make it possible and negotiated a truce with his boss who was demanding their presence back home; he does not deserve to be stonewalled and he wishes he knew Spencer’s reasons for shutting him out.

“You know, I can lift you in if you’re having trouble.” Hotch offers with more edge to his voice than he intended. It’s a legitimate offer that he hopes might provoke an honest response from Spencer.

He is rewarded with a glare, but Spencer remains tight lipped, shoulders tense, clutching the door as if he doesn’t have the strength to stand without it. Hotch suspects he might not. It has been a long day and they could both use some rest.

“I just need a minute. Are we in that big of a hurry?” Spencer answers in a strained voice.

Hotch crosses his arms and leans against the side of the truck. “No rush but I’m curious what the problem is. You just told the doctor you were fine, and that poor physiotherapist that she wasted 5 years in school. Forgive me, but this, right now, doesn’t look fine Spencer.”

Hotch can see Spencer suck in his breath, trying to formulate a response. He’s angry, Hotch can see that, at who he isn’t sure. The doctors, Amelia, himself, fate…all of the above maybe. Being mad is one thing, pretending you’re not can be damaging. Not for the first time he wishes that JJ or Garcia were here to force Spencer to talk, because Hotch feels like a hypocrite preaching about the dangers of internalizing your emotions.

Hotch knows he should just insist on putting Spencer in the truck because standing in the parking lot is a pointless waste of time, but he holds off. He wants Spencer to ask, to know he can count on him. Likewise, he wants to know that Spencer wants the help is offering.

It takes a while but finally Spencer gives in.

“I need you to…can you just come here?” Spencer questions now, subdued, and likely as ready as Hotch is to get out of here.

Suppressing a sigh that he does not want to be misconstrued as reluctance on his part, Hotch steps up behind Spencer, lifting his injured leg carefully, and bracing him as he pulls himself up into his seat. He waits for him to situate himself, pretending he doesn’t see the drawn look on his face or hear the grimace as he shifts so that Hotch can shut his door.

Moving around to the driver’s side Hotch thinks tiredly that it is already late afternoon, Spencer is exhausted, they are getting nowhere, and more than ever they need to talk.

* * *

The shower was providing both a much-needed reprieve for Hotch from Spencer’s sullen silence, and an opportunity to organize his thoughts. He allows the too hot water to cascade over his shoulders easing some of the tension from the day, the week…hell the last few weeks. So much has happened, Spencer’s close call, the Amelia Porter case blowing up, the team leaving to go home, that he has had no time to process how he feels about any of it.

The truth is he has been distracted by thoughts of George Foyet, comparing him to Amelia, and envisioning what will happen to Spencer if he refuses to let this case go. Hotch lost his wife to Foyet, but before that he lost just about everything, contact with his son, his peace of mind, his confidence. Finding him, bringing him in, making him pay became all consuming. It absorbed his every waking thought and took over his dreams, left him waking in a cold sweat every night. On his mission to the right thing, protect his family and maintain his pride, he never once considered the cost.

It is because of his own experience that he knows how Spencer is feeling, and well enough to be afraid it is already consuming him. Foyet…his only reason for being was to find him, and he would never have agreed to pass that burden, and ultimately that reward, onto another team…but that is exactly what he is going to ask Spencer to do.

Sighing heavily, he reaches for the shampoo, mentally preparing himself for the discussion ahead. God knows Spencer deals in logic, but there is no line of reasoning that will make what Hotch has to say easy to hear. Regardless, he will not allow him to spiral down into Amelia’s demented world and lose himself there. He is going to be there every step of the way to keep them both afloat, but first he has to try like hell to make Spencer see things his way.

Stepping out of the shower, Hotch wraps a towel around his waist and takes his time using another to dry his hair. It occurs to him that he really does need to update the team, let them know about Green’s death and get Garcia working on a possible connection with the cartel. Every lead they get takes them further down an ever-twisting path to nowhere and no closer, it seems, to a light at the end of it all. He is honestly disheartened, aware that they grossly underestimated Amelia Porter, her role in Miriam’s murder, and now they are left to play a game of catch up that they are losing miserably.

If they manage to unravel the mystery of Amelia, how many more skeletons will they unleash, and will it bring them any closer to her…here alone in a hotel bathroom, disheartened and questioning his reputation as one the top profilers in the field, Hotch can admit to himself that the chances are looking more grim with every passing day.

* * *

Spencer hears the shower shut off and rushes to straighten up his pile of notes and maps, wincing at the stretch, wanting everything neat and ready. He is going to need logic and not heartfelt pleas if he is going to win Hotch over and stop himself being relegated to medical leave. He cringes remembering the hospital and Hotch’s face as listened to the droning on about more surgery, physio exercises and rehab centers. Spencer can manage his physical pain, but he cannot go home. Not until they find Amelia Porter.

If only he hadn’t misread the situation back at Green’s, been so indiscrete about his feelings, and given Hotch another reason to send him home; to avoid the awkwardness that they have been skillfully avoiding talking about all day. It was immature, a foolish mistake and he put Hotch in the awkward position of responding or maintaining his professionalism which was not fair at all. Still, he can’t help wishing.. wanting to know what Hotch would have said in a different time and place when he could have be completely open and totally honest.

Thankfully Hotch picks that moment to emerge from the bathroom and distract Spencer from that train of thought. With wet hair and damp skin, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, it is a welcome distraction too. Hotch’s body is flawless, all taut skin stretched tight over defined muscle, he is lean but strong. There are very visible scars around his navel, and on his lower abdomen just above where the towel rests on his prominent hip bones, but they are a testament to what he has endured and how he has survived. Spencer finds himself wanting to touch them, imagines being intimate enough with his friend and mentor to trace them with his fingers, prompting Aaron to confide some of the dark memories that Spencer knows he must have and never talks about.

Flushing at the warmth growing low in his belly, Spencer shakes the thoughts away as Hotch turns to look at him. His gaze is intense and Spencer wonders for a second if he can read his mind. It is not so hard to believe Hotch may have superpowers, Spencer thinks.

“Are you ok?” Hotch asks, forehead creasing with concern. Spencer moves his eyes to the bedspread, hoping the other man didn’t notice him staring and moves some of his papers around distractedly.

“Uh huh, I’m fine.” Spencer clears his throat. “I’ve just been looking over my notes and I wanted to talk to you about some…stuff.”

Well that was eloquent, Spencer thinks. Hotch looks unconvinced but nods anyway as he pulls a white undershirt over his head. Spencer can still clearly see the outline of his abs protruding through the shirt, which is thin and now damp from Hotch’s skin. Squinting he can even make out the thin line of dark hair that starts just under his navel and disappears under the edge of the towel still fastened at his waist…

“Spencer!” Hotch calls, waving a hand to regain Spencer’s attention. Chuckling he teases, “thought I lost you there.”

Spencer forces a laugh but its weak at best and Hotch takes a hint and moves on.

“So, we need to eat, you need to shower, but, yes, most of all we need to talk.” Hotch pauses to take a deep breath, and Spencer wishes he would put on pants so he could stop picturing what’s under that stupid towel. “I need to tell you something and…well it won’t be what you want to hear. I really don’t want it to hurt our dynamic or damage our friendship.” Hotch continues and Spencer wishes Hotch’s face wasn’t so unreadable, and suddenly his ears are ringing, and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He knows what Hotch wants to tell him, and he definitely does not want to hear it! Spencer needs to hang onto the hope that he didn’t misinterpret the connection between them those nights in Hotch’s office doing paperwork that didn’t need to be done… the times that Hotch has come to his rescue, taken the time to teach him to shoot, to save his life…now is not the time to find out that the relationship they share is no different than any other student and mentor. Spencer did not realize until this very second that he was counting on something that will never happen, and it is a horrible, crushing feeling. He can’t seem to speak to stop Hotch from letting him down gently, from saying the words he can’t bear to hear…he can’t even catch his breath, his heart is racing, and it crosses his mind that he might actually be dying.

“I have been putting it off because it’s so personal,” Hotch is saying but he sounds like he’s under water and Spencer has to stop this, and oh God why can’t he form words…“There are some things that you just don’t talk about because other people can’t be expected to understand, but I have to now Spencer because I can’t let you-“

“Wait!”

Hotch is both interrupted and startled when Spencer manages to find his voice and shouts.

They stare at each other, Hotch frozen in confusion and Spencer struggling with a hundred emotions at once, desperate to stop Hotch from spoiling the notion that one day things could be the way they are in his head when he thinks about the future.

“I-I mean-that is-I need to go first.” Spencer manages to stutter before Hotch can go back to talking and ruin everything. “You said we would compare notes, you said we need to talk, well I need to go first. I need to tell you about that day at the Appleby farm, I need to tell you everything. I need to talk about it all…and-well-I need to go first. Ok?”

Because Spencer can’t stand to hear what Hotch is going to say. He would rather talk about all of his failures, the multiple ways he let his team down, his fear that Amelia was right, and he really is just a trick pony. All facts and statistics but weak in the field…anything, anything at all but hear Aaron tell him he does not and will never love him back.

* * *

“Derek!” Penelope screeches, after over three hours of alternating between typing search parameters, and intensely scrutinizing long boring documents on her screen, only to pick up some folder or other to study before going back to typing.

The sound startles Derek where he is busy doing much the same thing on his tablet, albeit with less success. Camping out in Garcia's private tech cave had seemed like an inspired way to not only avoid Rossi, but to be the first to know if Garcia dredged up something new, and if that screech was anything to go by, it just paid off.

“Come here, come here!” Penelope is waving him over impatiently. “Oh, my chiseled Adonis, you are going to be so impressed by what I have found that you are going to beg to have my babies just to ensure my legacy of making something out of nothing lives on!”

Derek snorts as he joins her at her computer, curiosity piqued. “I am always impressed with you PG and having your babies would be an honour. Now fill me in, what have you got?”

“Sure thing and after we can talk baby names.” She teases with a wink. It’s the most lighthearted Derek has seen her since Salt Lake City, and it makes him glad. Penelope is the glue that holds them together and without her wit and humor they are lost.

“Ok think back to when we talked about Amelia’s farm, officially the Appleby Farm, and I told you that it was sold to Jane Appleby by the bank in 2009. Remember?” She prompts and Derek nods because he does remember. The details of this case have been floating around in his brain for weeks.

“Well it turns out that wasn’t entirely correct, it only appeared that way because I had just scratched the surface. The farm was actually sold to one Lucas Olson who paid for it in cash, three weeks before the deed was transferred, by him, to Jane Appleby’s name!” Penelope scans Derek’s face to make sure he is keeping up. “Now let me tell you why that is such a weird big deal, above and beyond someone up and giving away a farm that they just paid close to a million dollars in cash for.”

“I am no boy wonder, but I knew I had come across the name Lucas Olson before and you’ll die when I tell you where, Derek Morgan! Lucas Olson was the friend who found Alec Smythe, former owner of the Appleby farm, dead in the farmhouse. Crazy right?” Penelope pauses to allow Derek to react to this news.

“Ok, yeah that is a really strange connection.” Derek ponders slowly, thinking it over.

“Hang on,” Penelope holds up a hand, turning her chair back to her computer, tapping a few keys to bring up a web page called truthlocator. “This is a free site that anyone can use. All you have to do is type in a few basic details about a person and it will bring up any public record that is available containing their name.”

“Ok…” Derek says, waiting for her to connect the dots for him.

“I did just that with Lucas Olson’s name, and I found something really juicy, Derek. You are going to throw up, or have kittens, maybe both. I know I almost did. Ready?”

Derek nods riveted at this point.

“I was looking for Olson’s financials to figure out where he got the cash to buy a farm, and I found what I was looking for. Boy did I ever.” Penelope tells him. “Derek, Lucas Olson was the sole beneficiary of Gordon and Claire Porter’s life insurance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun dunnnnn!!!!!
> 
> We're baaaaaaaack. ...again... I know, we're terrible. But we have a schedule figured out now so we should have chapters coming out every two weeks. I know that sounds like a long time between chapters, but we both work and we both have families, so that's unfortunately just how it's gotta be. But that means that you lovely people get more consistent updates!! 
> 
> Wasn't that after shower scene just perfection? Ahh! Editing that I was so drawn into the distraction and all like squealy and drooly. No, those probably aren't words, but I'm using them, so there! lol Regardless of my made up words, wasn't that scene just so very YUM!?!?
> 
> Though it seems like Hotch and Reid are floundering a little bit, at least the team now has some direction thanks to the amazing Garcia! More team interaction and cooperation is on its way!
> 
> We have a lot of the next couple chapters planned, trust me, we just have to get it down on paper. SO many exciting things planned that will make all of you all squealy and drooly too! hahaha! 
> 
> As always, please send us comments and kudos! As I said, we have some very drool worthy scenes we're thinking of writing, and your comments could help us decide exactly how steamy these scenes get, if you know what I mean... Come on, don't you want some more sex appeal in this story, leave a comment, let us know how bad you want it! 
> 
> Be sure to subscribe so that you can be the first to be notified when we update so you can see if we've been encouraged enough to write in the sexy stuff! 
> 
> ~CC~


	21. Trepidation

#### Chapter 21

### Trepidation

“Wow…ok I think I’m gonna need you to talk this out with me, PG.” Derek manages, actively trying to work out the implications. “Gordon and Claire Porter are Amelia’s parents, and they left a small fortune to a man named Lucas Olson, who just happened to be friends with Alec Smythe, who died leaving his farm unclaimed for ten-“

“Twelve years,” Penelope corrects, waving him on as she does, excited to be bringing him up to speed.

“Twelve years,” he corrects himself. “At which point he buys the property from the bank, but only owns it a few weeks before turning it over to Jane Appleby, who is actually the fugitive daughter of the friends who left him the money in the first place…that’s what you’re telling me?” Derek’s mind is whirling.

“Yep, uh huh, pretty much exactly!” Penelope says brightly, turning back to her computer, typing as she rambles. “Now, I know there are a lot of details that need to be filled in, but I couldn’t wait to tell you Derek! Think about it! This Lucas Olson is someone that knows Amelia and could potentially tell us all about her and may even be in contact with her. I know it’s not case solved, but it gets the taste of defeat out of my mouth and I can enjoy my seriously expensive coffee again, maybe even-“

Derek leans over to catch hold of Penelope’s arm, interrupting to turn her away from the computer to face him.

“PG, just a second.” He hates to ask what he’s about to because it’s going to crush her if she hasn’t thought of it already. “You’ve put in so much effort here, you said it, you’re holding back defeat, and this is information we can really work with, but I need to ask…do you know where Lucas Olson is now?”

Worry touched her face for just a minute when Derek got serious, but now she lights up again.

“Oh! That’s no problem! I can figure that out in a jiffy, I have his last known address in the police file, and even if he’s moved on, he should be easy enough to track.” She flashes him a grin, and his heart sinks a little. “That is a small hurdle as far as this beast of a case goes.” She tries to assure him.

He gives her arm a gentle squeeze, refocusing her attention on him. “Yes, I never, ever doubt what you’re capable of doll face,” he smiles grimly, ”but we have seen how Amelia cleans up after herself, and… it makes me wonder what condition we will find Lucas Olson in.”

Derek gets to watch her face fall as realization dawns. With a moan that is almost a wail, she jerks out of his grip, turning to slump down on the desk, face buried in her arms. Her next reply is muffled but delivered in a tone shrill enough that he catches it anyway.

“Of course! He’s dead! How in the name of all that is pink and fluffy did I not think of that, Derek!”

Scooting his chair up next to her, Derek pulls her into his side, trying to soothe her.

“We don’t know that for sure, but I have to deal in doom and gloom sometimes. Comes with the job.” He says softly, rubbing her arm and hoping he’s wrong. “Let’s find out, and then we can check in with Hotch and Dave.”

* * *

Hotch pins Spencer with a searching look that makes him squirm. Reaching for his journal and the organized mess of maps and notes, Spencer pulls them over in front of him, avoiding Hotch’s eyes and stalling for time all at once.

“Spencer…” Hotch starts, then stops himself, his expression hard and appraising, when Spencer chances a look up at him. Whatever he meant to say he rethinks it, as he takes in Spencer’s body language. Suddenly he seems undecided about what to do, and the quiet in the room becomes oppressive. Spencer can hear a man and a woman laughing loudly in the hall, followed shortly by the resounding bang of their door slamming shut. The heater in the room clicks on, cars pass on the road outside, and Spencer wonders how long they can stay like this, not talking, just listening to the sounds a hotel makes.

It takes some time, but Hotch must have come to a decision because he breaks the silence. “Of course you can go first.” He allows, pushing himself away from the desk he’s been leaning against. “But if it can wait a few minutes, I need some air.”

Hotch doesn’t wait for an answer before he turns to rifle through his go bag, pulling out sweatpants, then pinning his eyes back on Spencer. Ducking his head again, Spencer wants to object, because he is going to lose his nerve if they don’t do this now; but at the same time he wants nothing more than to put it off. Hotch continues to watch him, waiting for a response, oblivious to Spencer’s internal panic.

Spencer can hear Hotch sigh and wonders if he is losing all patience with him. He wishes he would give him some indication that he’s not mad, because he hates to have Hotch upset with him. The man has a way of disapproving that makes him question every action he has ever taken, trying to figure out what he can change to get back in his good graces.

“I’m going to finish getting dressed and go update the team.” Hotch tells him tone brokering no room for argument. “You start getting undressed and I’ll help you shower when I get back. Then we talk.”

It is an order just barely disguised as a request, and Spencer can’t do anything but watch him go.

* * *

“Wait,” Dave says, switching his phone from his right ear to his left. “Green is dead? The professor that helped Garcia with the plants? I suppose you’re about to tell me how exactly Amelia is involved.”

Dave’s phone rang in the middle of a depressing search of suicides, deaths by exsanguination, and death’s given the dubious label of ‘undetermined’; all males in their teens, from the handful of Canadian cities where Amelia was reportedly sighted between 2002 and 2009. A win meant finding a dead kid, whose parents recognize a picture of their missing killer, and are able to give him an alias that could, if he was lucky, lead him to another death in another city…Dave swears that while most of the time his job is extremely rewarding, other times he feels like he’s digging holes, when he’s meant to be filling them in.

He listens as Hotch brings him up to speed on the discovery of Green’s body, his missing van, the too tidy house, and the photo’s of Andy Farland that point to a blackmail plot they have yet to fully unravel.

“So you don’t believe Amelia killed Green?” Dave questions when Hotch finishes his update on the ever intensifying saga of Salt Lake City.

Hotch is certain that Green’s death was a professional hit, and that somehow, he was connected to both Amelia and the cartel, meaning he lied to them the entire time he was supposed to be helping. Morgan was going to have a field day, because he had never liked the man, and now it appears that his suspicions were not quite as unfounded as Dave had thought. Damn it! Green may even have known how to find Amelia and never said a word. Morgan was going to lose it.

“How is Reid?” Dave is a little wary of asking. Hotch’s choice to let the kid work the case and prolong their stay in Utah has become a source of contention between him and his former protégé. He knows that Hotch isn’t being honest about his reasons, even has some inkling of why, but the man refuses to open up to him about it.

Dave listens to the vague reassurance that Spencer is healing, just slower than expected with a few tossed in complications, and opts not to comment beyond sending his best wishes. One of these days he expects that Hotch will remember that he trusts him and tell him what’s really going on with him.

“Garcia managed to find confirmation that Amelia was in the North West Territories in 2006. It’s not a lot to go on but we think it’s the beginning of something.” Dave shares, wanting Hotch to know they have his back, and he isn’t alone in this. Progress is being made. “JJ and Kate are taking the jet to Canada to pursue it. It’s a small town, we are optimistic that someone will be able to give us the alias she was using at the very least.”

Dave winces when Hotch asks if Cruz cleared the use of the jet, because he’s sure that Cruz thought Hotch did. But that’s a minor issue to be dealt with at a later date; with any luck, after they’ve closed this godforsaken case.

“You’re going to call Garcia and fill her in then? Get her to look into the cartel angle?” Dave changes the subject. “Otherwise, I’ll bring everyone up to date.”

Hotch tells him that he plans to call Garcia himself and Dave hopes maybe she will have better luck getting him to confide in her. It is damn near impossible to get through the tough exterior that Hotch has been honing all these years, but it is equally difficult to deter Penelope from trying, so it’s sure to be a decent battle of wills. The thought makes Dave smile as he ends the call, tossing his phone onto the desk, and turning his attention back to the task at hand.

* * *

Returning to the room after updating the team, Hotch is a little disappointed, mostly in himself. He had wanted more from his conversation with Dave, namely confirmation that handing off the Amelia Porter case was the right thing to do. Hotch isn’t used to be being so hesitant, and he wanted reassurance that he was doing the right thing, and that he was not, in fact, being ruled by emotion. The problem was he had caught Dave reinvested in tracking down new leads, and suddenly he hardly seemed like the right person to ask.

Then his call with Penelope had brought up thought provoking new info that made him second guess whether he really was giving up too soon. The team is back to working the case, Spencer will be excited about Garcia’s finds, and they do offer some new hope, Hotch admits. He resolves to talk to Spencer and go from there.

Hotch pushes open their hotel room door, still frustrated but ready to get on with it. He is determined to hear what Spencer has to say, then have his say, so they can start dealing with what needs to be done, free of distractions./p>

Moving into the room, he observes Spencer who is where he left him, but half dressed, hunched in on himself, looking cold, alone and absolutely miserable. The physiotherapist said it was good for Spencer to maintain independence and continue to try performing everyday tasks... but seeing Spencer shiver, one arm wrapped around his middle protectively, hair stringy and in need of a wash, Hotch is inclined to agree with Spencer’s earlier decree; that the physiotherapist should keep her opinions to herself. He reproaches himself for letting Spencer’s erratic moods get to him because he should never have left the room. He made a commitment to seeing Spencer through this, and not leaving him alone was a major part of that commitment.

During Spencer’s hospital stay having Hotch help him to change, shower, and even get to the bathroom was the lesser of two evils, the alternative being whichever nurse was on duty. Hotch was glad to have something useful to do and found himself surprised by the tenderness he felt toward the younger agent while taking care of his needs. It was then that it became clear Spencer didn’t like being left alone, though he was reluctant to admit it, so Hotch just made excuses to stay close. The truth was it made him feel safer too.

Hotch remembers like yesterday, bouncing, rocking and pacing with his infant son while Hayley slept or ran errands. Jack would cry inconsolably, only to stop instantly once he was back in his mothers arms. Hotch concluded that he was not particularly good at nurturing, and let Hayley take over, while he worked outside the house. But now, with Spencer, his role became suddenly hands on and oddly, Hotch feels uniquely qualified to take on the task. After all, he understands Spencer’s insatiable drive to impress, being the youngest agent ever recruited to the BAU, and a socially awkward one at that. It was Spencer’s strength and tenacity that prevailed when he failed the physical testing that most other candidates exceled at. Instead of dwelling on it, he redoubled his efforts to dominate in other areas, like linguistics and statistical analysis, where he was unbeatable. Hotch has admired him from the start, and he knows that Spencer must be compelled to accept the help he needs now, because his desire to prove himself simply won’t allow him to ask for it.

Tossing his key card, wallet and phone onto the desk, Hotch goes quickly to kneel in front of Spencer, picking up one foot then the other to remove his socks, joking with a grin, “These socks match, who let that happen huh?”

Spencer smiles wanly but clutches his arm tighter around him at the same time. He looks dejected to say the least, and Hotch wants to be more comforting, but has no idea how without talking about the tension between them, and it’s underlying cause.

“You did good, Spencer,” Hotch comments softly, picking up Spencer’s discarded pants and tossing them toward the plush chair in the corner.

“I am not two, Aaron.” Spencer replies haughtily, but there is no real heat behind the words. And then, “I used to be quite good at getting myself undressed.”

Hotch can’t stop a snort of laughter at that statement.

Realizing, Spencer says wryly, “ha-ha,” but he is working to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Ok, move your arm, so we can get your shirt off. Here,” Hotch tugs the arm away with a light touch as he narrates. “Let’s move to the bathroom and finish there.”

Placing his hands under Spencer’s arms, he helps him stand and wrap his good arm around his neck, so he can support most of his weight. Spencer is lighter and easier to move than he should be and Hotch makes a mental note to pay more attention to what he’s eating at mealtimes.

Once he has settled Spencer on the closed toilet seat, he starts the shower to warm up, then turns his attention to Spencer’s wounds. They are all in various stages of healing, garish in the bright bathroom lighting, but he keeps his expression neutral as he carefully looks them over. The incision that marks the deep stab wound in Spencer’s thigh looks much fresher than it should, still stitched and stubbornly refusing to fully heal. The doctors cautioned that they need to watch closely for signs of infection so that’s what Hotch does, not entirely trusting Spencer to alert him of a problem. Spencer flinches away when Hotch’s fingers get near it, just hovering, a sure indication of how much pain he’s in. “Sorry, I didn’t touch. You need to say something if it hurts Spencer.” Hotch admonishes.

“Of course it hurts, Hotch!” Spencer shoots back, irritated. “I think that’s to be expected. I can handle it.”

Hotch shakes his head, feeling like he’s constantly avoiding one battle or another with the ornery agent in front of him, but he moves on to Spencer’s neck which is much further along in the healing process. Despite being a much more ragged wound to begin with, it has closed nicely and if the puckered, red scar tissue continues to lighten and smooth out, in a few more weeks it will be much less noticeable. There is the concern of deeper nerve damage to contend with still, but the expectation is that Spencer will regain full use of his arm with time and continued physio.

Both the long incision down the middle of Spencer’s belly, and the penetrating wound under his ribs look much less scary than they once did, free of stiches and staples, though the scars will serve as a permanent reminder of the invasive surgery it took to save Spencer’s life. Hotch prods Spencer’s right arm out of the way again, so he can get a good look and be satisfied that all is as well as it can be before moving on.

“I'm getting cold, Hotch.” Spencer prompts, impatiently pulling his arm away from Hotch to place it back around himself. “Can I just get in?”

Hotch nods, once again pulling Spencer very carefully to his feet, gesturing at the boxer shorts he still wears as he does. Spencer shakes he head, and Hotch shrugs. Years of sports and locker rooms followed by training at the academy mean Hotch isn’t shy and can’t see the point in showering with underwear on, but he leaves the subject alone.

“Do I have to stand? What happened to the shower chair, Hotch?” Spencer asks as he’s guided over the edge of the bathtub and under the shower spray.

“We don’t need it.” Hotch replies, reaching up to adjust the shower head, keeping hold of Spencer’s bicep with his other hand. “The doctor and physiotherapist agree that standing some is good for you. Im right here, I won’t let you fall.”

Spencer huffs at that, and Hotch knows that he’s tired and sore, and he feels a pang of guilt but tamps it down. For the greater good, Spencer needs to get on board with his own recovery, or Hotch will have to force him to.

After ensuring Spencer is steady on his feet, Hotch grabs a washcloth and the bar of soap wetting both under the water while Spencer leans on the wall under the shower spray. There is no resistance from the other man as Hotch moves in to run the cloth over his back, massaging as he goes trying to subtly soothe and provide some comfort. He goes slowly, giving Spencer time to let the hot water relax him, and hoping he will relish in the break from the pile of maps and case files he has been pouring over obsessively. Again, Hotch worries over Spencer’s prominent rib cage, and sharply jutting hip bones, making note to try and tempt his appetite with the sugary desserts he loves. The situation is taking a toll on the younger agent, and his attempts to channel all of his fear, pain and trauma into his work may not be working as well as he wants.

Drawing himself away from his thoughts, Hotch warns, “I’m going to wash your legs ok? I’ll be careful, but I need you to steady yourself. Can you stand up straight and brace yourself on the wall? So I know you won’t fall.”

Spencer obliges wearily, bracing his right arm against the shower wall and closing his eyes. Spencer doesn’t like Hotch to touch anywhere near the injury on his thigh, but the area needs to be kept clean so Hotch carefully wipes around it anyway.

Once Spencer’s body is soaped up, Hotch gives him a chance to rinse, while he works shampoo into Spencer’s tangled hair, noting that he should offer to brush it for him. He uses his fingertips to rub all over Spencer’s scalp, smiling, but not commenting as he leans into the touch.

Maybe he’s overthinking, but Hotch is self aware enough to question his motives in wanting to make Spencer feel good, and to realize, in this moment, it is having an all too pleasurable effect on him. The combination of Spencer’s vulnerability, in opposition to his recently irascible nature is igniting a feeling in him that he recognizes even if he hasn’t felt it in a long time…the same feeling he got being close to Hayley in their early days of getting to know each other and falling in love. The thrill it gave him when she allowed him to take control, to hold and touch her in ways that required a deeper form of trust.

There is a stirring low in his belly, a spreading warmth that is accompanied by a shiver, that runs from his neck all the way down his spine as he recalls Spencer’s words from back in Green’s bedroom… _you could fall in love with anyone if you open your mind to the possibility…_ the earnest speech, the meaningful look that Hotch had understood then, but not the way he is understanding it now. Right now, this second, he isn’t seeing the practical, only the possible. Just like with Hayley when he had met her and known he would marry her no matter what it took.

Turning his back under the guise of finding the conditioner, Hotch subtly tugs at his sweatpants which feel tight where they didn’t before, and coughs to loosen the lump in his throat.

“You ok?” Spencer asks, squinting at him now. It’s true that Spencer misses social cues, but he reads body language as well as anyone Hotch knows, and he is afraid that he is giving far too much away with his unfocused gaze, hunched stance, and heated cheeks.

“Ya-uh, I mean yes.” Hotch tugs at his pants again, praying that Spencer will think his red face is from the steamy heat in the bathroom. “Just…thinking.”

Turing back to the shower, he averts his eyes from Spencer’s inquisitive ones, pouring conditioner into his hand as an excuse for looking away. He can feel Spencer continuing to study him, as he pauses to turn his thoughts forcibly to anything that will calm both his racing heartbeat, and the rush of blood to his groin.

“Conditioner and then done, I think.” Hotch manages, reaching too quickly to apply the conditioner, making Spencer shrink back a bit. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Spencer replies, still staring at him questioningly, but keeping any thoughts to himself.

“Ok. Let’s finish so we can talk.” Hotch tells him, with a nervous smile, that Spencer is all too quick to misinterpret.

* * *

“Why me?” Kate asks, slinging her go bag onto her shoulder as she follows JJ out of the building.

JJ appraises her over one shoulder without missing a step. They are on a tight timeline to meet the jet, and JJ doesn’t want to run into any delays.

“This is what you’re good at Kate,” she responds, with tempered good grace. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I chose you, us, because we can be delicate. We are about to dredge up a lot of memories for parents who would likely rather forget. Who would you send?”

Scrunching her nose, Kate thinks about it. Maybe it is that simple. “Fine, good point. I really do want to help JJ.” She insists.

“You know Kate, the only person doubting that right now is you.” JJ points out, speeding up as they reach the parking garage. “We need to think about what we hope to accomplish from this.”

Faintly annoyed by JJ's first comment, Kate shakes it off and considers the last statement.

“We need to connect Amelia to Ryan, beyond a doubt.” Kate muses. “If Amelia wasn’t his mystery woman then his death is tragic but nothing to do with us. Can we verify that without bothering his parents?”

JJ grimaces, heading for her car in the parking garage. “It would be nice, but I doubt it.” JJ fishes her keys out of her bag. “He didn’t have any friends to speak of. We can try his track and field coach. According to the police report Ryan confided in him. They don’t say what about.”

Kate and JJ slide into opposite sides of the car, bags tossed in the back.

“If someone can verify that Amelia was his secret girlfriend, then what?” Kate wonders aloud.

“I’m not sure,” JJ answers, starting the car and pulling out. “It’s a very small town. Someone must have known her. Anything we can learn about her would be a bonus.”

“Maybe.” Kate says doubtfully. “I’m still not sure we will be a lot farther ahead. It’s unlikely she left a forwarding address.”

“Don’t give up before we start, Kate.” JJ warns, with a pointed look. “This is what we do. How many times have we struck gold by just asking around?”

“Wouldn’t we be better off talking to Cole Rainville?” Kate questions. “Amelia was his girlfriend for two years and he lived to tell about it.” She finishes grimly.

“Funding apparently.” JJ says. “Dave says Cruz won’t authorize the trip to Ontario when Cole has already told the local police what he knows.”

“The North West Territories is ok, though?” Kate asks, confused.

“Pretty sure that Dave didn’t ask this time. He plans to justify it by presenting Ryan’s suicide as a murder is my guess.” JJ looks over to Kate to share a wink, “and, by then we will have stopped in Ontario on our way back.”

Kate smiles, and JJ turns her full attention to the road, as they pull out of the parking lot and head for the airport.

* * *

Finished with the shower and back in the bedroom, Hotch is trying to get Spencer dressed, while having to actively avoid being bombarded by his thoughts from the bathroom. Did they mean what he thought they might, and if so, was it something he could act on? After being in love with his wife for so many years…and there was Jack to think about, and work…

“There can you get your arms in?” Hotch says talking to interrupt his own internal battle. He just pulled Spencer’s shirt down over his head and is crouching to work on his socks next.

“Hotch, can we please just talk?” Spencer has gone from being unsure about what to say, to knowing if he doesn’t get it out in the open, he is going to lose his mind. He kicks his foot a little in irritation because Hotch is currently taking forever to turn a sock right side out.

“I can do that Hotch.” Spencer objects, reaching to snatch the socks from Hotch’s hands.

“Oh?” Hotch raises an eyebrow. “You want to bend down here while you’re still healing from abdominal surgery? For the noble purpose of putting your socks on with one hand because the other one is healing from significant nerve damage? Seriously, Spencer there is nothing wrong with needing help, and I’m happy to do it.”

Spencer grunts an unintelligible response, sitting back and allowing Hotch to finish.

“And you can go ahead. I’m listening.” Hotch tells him, from where he is on the floor, still fussing with the socks.

Reaching behind him on the bed, Spencer drags his journal closer, unfolding the map he had tucked inside until he was ready to share what he’s been working on.

“Can you take this and spread it out on the desk?” He holds the map out to Hotch who has just finished pulling Spencer’s pant legs over his feet. “It will be easier than trying to unfold it on the bed.” Never mind that that’s how Spencer has been working the last couple nights, using the dim light from the bedside lamp after Hotch has fallen asleep.

“Yes, I can but we need to get your pants on first.”

Spencer can’t help but roll his eyes at the continued use of the pronoun ‘we’, since Hotch is doing all the work and Spencer is just going along with it. Hotch thinks it makes him feel like part of the process, but what it really does is make him feel like a toddler. Shrugging it off, Spencer accepts Hotch’s help to stand, blushing only slightly as the older man makes short work of tugging his pants up and into place. He is quick to remind himself that replacing his wet underwear had been much worse.

Hotch grabs the cursed cane for Spencer to lean on, then takes the map from his hand, clearing off the accumulated clutter from the desk, so he can lay it out flat. He studies the marks, notes, and intersecting lines with apparent interest, and some confusion, while he waits for Spencer to limp his way over.

“Ok, so what is all this Spencer?” Hotch asks, without looking up from the map in front of him. “There’s a lot going on here…these lines go nowhere, and I can’t read the writing here,” he says dubiously, pointing to one of Spencer’s scrawled notes. “I’m not sure I know what I’m looking at.”

“It’s a geographical profile, Hotch.” Spencer snaps, unreasonably insulted and feeling defensive. “It’s what I was good at before everyone lost faith in me and stopped asking my opinion.”

The stern look he receives makes him quail but Spencer refuses to backtrack. Hotch may be his superior, but the team works because everyone uses their individual strengths, everyone is integral, and everyone has a role. They can’t keep dismissing his. “I am an excellent profiler, Hotch. I may not be good at kicking down doors and tackling suspects like the rest of you, but this,” he waves a hand at the map. “This is what I do, and it has proved invaluable in solving many BAU cases in the past. You didn’t even ask me this time.”

Hotch’s frown becomes more of a glare. Impassioned though that speech may be, it was also insubordinate, and Hotch wasn’t having it. “When, sir, should I have asked? Between the first and second surgery to save your life? After, when you couldn’t get out of bed because it took all of your strength and endurance just to manage the pain without narcotics?” Spencer flinches at the harsh tone, and the memory. “You are only working because of my intervention, so I would thank you to remember who you are talking to.”

Spencer sucks in a shaky breath, hurt by the words, even if he deserved them. He can’t bring himself to look at Hotch, so he stares down at the map, tracing the lines with his eyes, waiting until he knows his voice won’t crack to speak again.

A few tense minutes pass, then Hotch sighs loudly. He does that a lot lately. “I am your biggest supporter, Spencer, in almost everything.” His face is a mix of hurt and concern. “I don’t doubt your abilities. You know that.”

“Well, maybe you should!” Spencer exclaims too loudly. “You don’t get it, Hotch.” Spencer lowers his tone to a more professional level, breathing hard, trying to stay in control. “She-back in the shed when-anyway, she told me that I had underestimated her, and she was right. Specifically, she told me I wasn’t the only genius in the world…we never accounted for that when we tried to profile her. For how intelligent she really is.”

Hotch is watching him, still bristling, but he gentles his voice anyway.

“Ok, so make me get it Spencer.”

Spencer shifts to lean into the desk, hand tightening around the cane in his right hand. He intended to start with the map and build from there. This was going all wrong.

“Let’s just go over the map. I’ll explain what I’ve got and -"

Hotch cuts him off, putting a hand over the map and commanding, “no, let’s keep going. You were finally going to tell me what’s bothering you.”

Pressing his lips together, Spencer tries to ignore the cornered feeling and keep in mind that Hotch is his partner. He needs to know what Spencer is thinking. At least about the case.

“Our profile was incomplete, and we had no business relying on it in the field.” Spencer states, thinking back to the car on that first fateful trip to the Appleby Farm. He had been on the right track, they were chasing Benton, but he wasn’t the real problem. “It wasn’t my call, but we had no business storming the Appleby farm.”

Hotch’s face hardens, lips tightening, back stiffening. “No, it wasn’t your call. We were trying to save Rebecca’s life, if you remember Spencer.”

“Yes!” Spencer shoots back. “Yes, we did what we had to, I’m not denying that, but we didn’t end up saving anyone, did we Hotch?” More softly he repeats. “Did we?”

Hotch is speechless. The truth behind Spencer’s statement hits hard and brings all his insecurities rushing back to the surface. Back from where he had buried them, with all his guilt and recriminations.

Spencer is currently staring at him, waiting for a response, or maybe his ok to go on.

“She’s smart, Hotch,” Spencer says tentatively. He knew his words were hurting Hotch. He hadn’t necessarily meant for that to be the case. “So smart, and she’s still here. I know you think she’s left, but you’re wrong. I can show you.”

“You can show me where she is?” Hotch is incredulous.

“No, of course not. I’d never keep that from you. Obviously.” Spencer revises.

“No, just everything else you’re feeling. And doing.” Hotch mutters, turning back to the map.

Spencer’s jaw practically drops at the injustice of that. Hotch has hardly been open and willing to talk, having secret conversations with the team, freezing Spencer out on the drive to the prison, changing the subject to avoid getting too real, like they did back at Green’s house.

“That’s not fair! You can barely look at me since the attack! You treat me like an-an- obligation, not your partner! Babysitting me until I give into my addiction, is that it?” Spencer is incensed and done with holding back. “I might look broken Hotch, but I am far from it! I am right here, and I can work this case! I can make it right. You don’t have to feel sorry for me!”

“An obligation? That’s what you think this is?” Hotch is flabbergasted.

“No, not at first.” Spencer responds truthfully. “But since Green’s house, and what I said-God I’d take it back if I could Hotch! I don’t know what I was thinking, I got caught up, and it was unprofessional-but God Hotch, I can’t have you look at me like-"

“Don’t!” Hotch cuts him off, grabbing him by his upper arms, too roughly, and giving him a shake. “Please, don’t take it back Spencer…I’m sorry that I’m not good at this, I wanted to say…well I don’t know what I wanted to say, something but it’s all so…”

Their faces are inches from each other, Hotch’s hands are tight enough on Spencer’s arms to hurt, but he doesn’t dare say anything. He is frozen, confused but also hopeful.

Hotch moves one hand to Spencer’s hair, brushing it back from his face, then lets the same hand slide to the back of his neck. “Can I-will you let me try something?” Hotch’s voice is breathy, and there is something desperate and almost predatory in his eyes. Spencer can only offer a nearly imperceptible nod, unclear what is happening, but he doesn’t hesitate, he wants to find out.

There is no more thinking, as Hotch pulls Spencer close, so close that Spencer can feel his breath, and appreciate the flecks of gold in his deep, brown eyes, that are so sincerely wanting. All reason is pushed aside, and Spencer would let him take everything he has to give…and then their lips are touching, like a whisper, a promise, a prayer, spoken and then gone, leaving behind just the wish.

“Time, Spencer,” Hotch breathes out, as Spencer breathes in, overwhelmed but wanting more. Hotch’s hand tightens on the back of Spencer’s neck. “I just need a bit of time…can you give me that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O Anybody else have a mushy grin on their face reading that last scene? *swoon* I definitely did, every time I read it, which was a lot, this went back and forth a couple of times between TC and I. lol I love the possibility of more, but the crazy uncertainty, yikes! How does a man who was in all outwards appearance very straight his entire life flip a switch and fall in love with a male co-worker? Well as we see with Hotch's last words, that he needs time, it's not as easy as flipping a switch. 
> 
> Okay admittedly we suck at sticking to a schedule, even one we make ourselves... we're sorry, we're both crazy procrastinators, and I could give you a million excuses but instead I will say, we're trying, please be patient, we promise we will never abandon the story!
> 
> What comes next? Where do they go from here? How do they exist together with this hanging between them? Be the first to find out by hitting that subscribe button. Don't forget to leave us a kudos and even better, some feedback! We really do want to know what you think, don't be shy, please comment. 
> 
> ~CC~


	22. Overcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING - Just in case you didn't see the new tag, this chapter mentions and describes suicide.

#### Chapter 22

### Overcome

Spencer is so caught off guard by the kiss that he doesn’t know what to say or do next, so he takes a chance, pressing himself forward into Hotch’s arms. There is a moment of hesitation from Hotch, but then he is wrapping Spencer in a solid embrace, and Spencer can only hope they have done away with pretense and are going to deal with actual logistics now.

“I can wait.” Spencer’s voice is muffled from where its buried into his shoulder, but Hotch understands him.

“I loved Hayley." Hotch says, with apprehension.

“I loved Maeve." Spencer responds bluntly, turning his head to the side to be better heard.

“And now there’s you." Hotch says softly, with sweet sincerity.

Spencer hums in response, clutching Hotch’s t-shirt in his fist, and reveling in the safety of Hotch’s arms.

“Promise me you will stop doubting my feelings for you?” Hotch asks, running a hand lightly up and down the younger agent’s spine.

“Promise me you’ll be honest and stop handling me.” Spencer shoots back, bringing his head up to meet Hotch’s eyes. He thinks Hotch will object to that, so he's surprised when he throws back his head and laughs.

“For a couple of profilers who should know better, we sure waste a lot of time misunderstanding each other.” He acknowledges fondly.

Using a hand on the back of his neck, Hotch tucks Spencer’s face back into his shoulder, resting his chin on top of his head. Hugging him tightly now, Hotch inhales the citrus and coconut smell of his own shampoo in Spencer’s hair indulgently, and for a time they both soak up all the comfort that the other has to offer.

* * *

After her phone call with Hotch, Penelope is entirely too subdued for Derek’s liking. Her enthusiasm is usually infectious and the whole team counts on her to keep them going. To keep them smiling.

“Hey, baby girl, don’t shut me out here.” He taps her on the shoulder from behind. “Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful big brain of yours?”

She heaves a shuddering breath, fingers pausing on the keyboard as she turns her face to him. Her eyes are shiny and Derek’s heart sinks. They desperately need her on this case, but he hates the way it’s wearing on her, tainting her typically cheery personality a little more with each failed lead in Salt Lake City, and the dead ends here at home.

“Well, our list just got a lot longer, sweet stuff, and no matter how much I enjoy working with you, I was digging a break from all this… darkness.” She gives him a sad smile. “Sunshine and happiness are my fuel…guess I stumbled across the wrong line of work, huh?”

That gives Derek pause, because it’s true that their line of work warrants some soul searching at times. Catching killers after families have been destroyed, experiencing the worst of what humanity has to offer, fighting battles that seem insurmountable…it all makes you wonder if you’re really making a difference or just evening the odds a little. Ultimately though, it’s what you sign on for when you join the FBI, so you celebrate the wins and try not to let the losses become nightmares.

“No, you didn’t. You save lives here Penelope and we can’t do it without you.” Derek reminds her firmly. “And the darkness?” He gestures to her computer screen. “That isn’t on you. It happens with or without you. But doing this job? That’s fighting back. Every case, every day, you help push back the dark, girl. Not doing this job would just be turning a blind eye.”

Penelope smiles up at him for real this time, reaching out to take his hand. “Wow, Derek Morgan.” She grabs for a tissue with her free hand and uses it to dab at her eyes. “Thank you for that. You really are more than just a pretty face, aren’t ya?” She gives him a wink.

“Back at ya, babe,” Derek laughs, pulling his chair up to sit next to her. “So, where do we stand?”

Shuffling over to makes room for him in front of her computer screens, Penelope answers.

“Well, Hotch is concerned about the cartel angle, and so am I. Not just because they’re savages, but also because they’re very hard to hunt down online.” Penelope begins, shaking her head. “I’m not entirely sure where to start but the major cartel in Utah is the Sinaloa. They aren’t nice people, and it’s hard to imagine that Professor Green was involved up to his neck in all that…he seemed so nice and helpful you know?”

Derek grimaces. “Dude played us, Garcia. I never trusted him.” Taking in her guilty look, he amends. “Sorry, none of it is on you. I mean, none of us saw him being so involved.”

“I know you didn’t like him and I’m mad too, but to die like that…ugh! I just can’t stand to picture it, Derek.” Penelope shakes her head as if she can rid herself of the images that way.

“Don’t think about it.” Derek advises. “We should look into his friends and family though, see if anything or anyone stands out.”

“Of course,” Penelope agrees. “But before I dive down that dirty rabbit hole, I want to tell you what I found out about Lucas Olson.”

“Fill me in, I’m curious.” Derek admits, hoping for a revelation that will gain them some ground.

“It’s not exactly good news, but it is interesting…in a sad, sordid, depraved way.” Penelope informs him, with a look of distaste. “First of all, he is dead, as predicted. Not just dead, and this is where it gets interesting, but murdered at his cabin in Sandy, Utah which is a short hop, skip and jump from Salt Lake City.”

Derek takes that in. “Murdered…” he repeats slowly. “How?” 

“Bludgeoned to death, officially.” Garcia provides, mouth twisting with the words. “Most likely with a shovel that was found at the scene. Trauma to his head is what killed him, but he suffered other injuries including defensive wounds, and they killed his dog too! It happened in 2013, so just last year, and the case is, as of yet, unsolved.” 

She frowns as she finishes, looking to Derek in a disturbed way.

“See? I’m getting desensitized! I said all that without crying, and without thinking about poor Lucas as a human being who was probably scared, in terrible pain, alone except for his dog who was probably already dead and- “

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up girl! Don’t spiral now. Stay with me.” Derek interrupts. He takes a slow deep breath, gesturing for her to join him. They breath in and out together a few times. Garcia looks pale and upset still, but she isn’t about to hyperventilate.

“Better now?” He asks, searching her face for the answer. “This one is really getting to you, huh?” He questions sympathetically.

Nodding she gives herself a shake. “Yes…but I can do this! Helping people right?”

“Right.” He confirms.

She holds his gaze for a moment as if assessing his sincerity before continuing.

“The locals who investigated at the time thought it might be drug related. Apparently Lucas Olson had quite the green thumb and he used it to grow a garden full of marijuana.” Garcia shares, conspiratorially. “Not your average marijuana either. When police started asking around they learned he was underground famous for acquiring seeds and hybridizing rare strains of weed.”

Garcia waits for a reaction from Derek before going on.

“Huh, could Olson be the cartel connection? He knew Amelia and it certainly seems she knew Green…could they all have been in business together? Maybe selling the pot?” Derek ponders, tilting his head to the side.

“I don’t think so. There was nothing to suggest he was selling the pot to anyone, and here is why the thought of his murder makes me so sick! According to accounts collected by police Lucas Olson was clean, wholesome, and an all-round decent guy. He was officially employed as a wilderness guide with the National Parks, but he also served as a volunteer firefighter in Sandy for years. He has mad skills as a tracker and extensive knowledge of the terrain all over Utah. In addition to firefighting, he worked with police and various volunteer search and rescue groups to pull off some major heroic, lifesaving stuff, D.” Penelope seems happier to share this part of the story, and with a few clicks of her mouse she brings up a picture of an idyllic looking family of four.

“This is the Braden family back in 2008. They got lost on a camping trip and were missing for 48 hours before it was reported by park rangers. It was Lucas Olson who found them, single handedly, before an official search could even be organized.” She clicks the mouse again and brings up another news article with a photo. This time it’s a middle-aged man, ruggedly handsome with a short, well-groomed beard, kind eyes, wiry build and close cropped dark blond hair. He’s holding a grinning little girl in one arm, and a wrinkly, long eared puppy in the other.

“This is Lucas Olson, and the little girl he’s holding is Olivia Welsh. Lucas joined a police search when she wandered off from her parent’s campsite in the night. She was feared dead or kidnapped after 18 hours of searching, and that’s when the police asked Olson for help. It took him only 6 hours to locate her where she had fallen down a steep riverbank, nearly impossible to traverse. She was wet, muddy and near death from hypothermia. The police credit him with saving her life, he got down the bank when no one else could and knew exactly what to do on the spot to warm her up. This was in 2010. The puppy is a purebred bloodhound, a gift from the Welsh family to show their gratitude, and the same dog murdered with him in 2013.”

Derek nods, because that is awful, leaning in to study the photo looking for any sign that this Lucas guy is some sort of criminal mastermind in league with the likes of Amelia Porter, or the Sinaloa drug cartel. He appears to be nothing but a wholesome, down to earth, middle aged man beaming down at the little girl and puppy in his arms as if they are the only things that matter in the world; everybody’s best friend including the resident psychopath.

“Why would Amelia let him live knowing as much as he did, only to kill him a few years later? He must have still been useful after he turned over the farm.” Derek thinks out loud. “Maybe they had some sort of fight that changed things? Or he had had enough and threatened to go to the police? If he was an all-round good guy maybe his conscience was getting to him.”

“I don’t know…” Penelope’s brow creases. “She’s pretty stabby. Bludgeoning isn’t her M.O as you folks would say.”

Derek shrugs. “She clocked me with a gun and hit Spencer over the head with a rock. It’s not such a stretch. I’d say she’s flexible.”

Penelope looks alarmed. “Not the same Agent Morgan! You and Spencer lived, and Lucas very much did not.”

“Yeesh, ok not exactly the same PG. Relax.” He holds up his hands in a placating fashion. “Come on though, they must have shared more than a love of quasi legal gardening for her to leave him alive. If we figure that out, maybe we can figure out what changed her mind.”

Garcia huffs a breath and purses her lips, side eyeing Derek. “Here’s an idea, Gloomy Gus, maybe she didn’t kill him. He could have been a gardening mentor, and old friend of her parents who served as a father figure. Maybe, just maybe, she loved him, and he loved her and that’s why he signed over the farm, and why she didn’t want him dead.”

Derek snorts, raising his eyebrows at Garcia, wondering if she’s serious. He is not sold on the idea that someone like Amelia could love anyone. No, there had to be more to it than that, a tangible reward that made the risk of having Lucas out there worth it.

“Seriously, you can’t rule it out.” Garcia insists. “It’s a game changer. Maybe it means she isn’t a sociopath at all.”

“Oh, I think she is!” Derek exclaims, eyebrows raised.

“Didn’t her and Benton murder Miriam in a drug induced frenzy? Maybe she’s an addict and it’s the drugs that mess with her morals? Or maybe she simply appreciates good weed and this Lucas guy had it? God knows I would have liked to have met him in college.” Garcia smirks suggestively, and Derek gives a weak half smile.

“Ok so say you’re right and Amelia liked this guy, how did he end up dead and what does it have to do with her? The cartel? Green? Our case in general?” Derek questions, and Garcia knows he’s begging for answers she doesn’t have.

“Ok, ok…back to the salt mines. Lucas, Amelia, professor Green…they all share and shared a passion for plants, so let’s start there.” She says with grim determination, spinning her chair back to her computer and their never-ending search.

* * *

“So, the red line down the middle here, is the Jordan River trail,” Spencer traces his finger along it to demonstrate. “Basically, it runs all the way from the Jordan River to Great Salt Lake. It’s about 72 miles, paved and well used, of course. That’s all common knowledge, but I’ve been mapping these trails, see?” Spencer checks to make sure Hotch is following. “Here, in green, I’ve marked the lesser traveled, but still mapped, trails through the woods. They are avidly used for horseback riding, and hikers seeking more of a challenge.”

Spencer checks again to make sure Hotch is paying attention, since his response is underwhelming. Maybe, like himself, he’s distracted by what happened between them and what it means for the future. It hasn’t left Spencer’s mind for even a second, but he still needs to impart what he’s been working on; make Hotch see that it’s imperative to finding Amelia.

“Ok, I’m with you so far.” Hotch prompts, hand rubbing at the stubble on his chin, looking thoughtful. “I assume there’s more, though?”

“Yes. See these areas?” Spencer points to the rather vast green and brown parts of the map. “There are still trails through these areas, but they aren’t publicly owned or maintained per say. They are largely made and maintained by hunters, and farmers through their own properties; properties that run for hundreds of acres, connecting to parks, National Forests, and other state and federally owned land.”

Hotch’s brow is furrowed as he contemplates that. “Ok I guess I need some context here, Spencer. So, there are trails all over the place, what does that mean for us and our case?”

Spencer breathes in deliberately through his nose, controlling his frustration. “I’m getting to that, Hotch.”

Probably equally frustrated but better at hiding it, Hotch gestures for him to continue.

“Right about here,” Spencer taps his finger on a small circle he’s drawn in the open space on the map, east of the red line marking the Jordan River trail. “Is the Appleby farm, which backs onto the highway here. Now, if you travel this way less than five miles, you will come to the property where Amelia grew up, which is now owned by George Porter, Amelia’s cousin.”

“He was interviewed after Miriam’s murder correct?” Hotch cuts in, leaning in closer now, interest piqued. “How did he come to live in the Porters house?”

Spencer tries to ignore the close proximity and the clean smell of fresh air and citrus that he is finding intoxicating.

“Yes, he was not overly helpful.” Spencer replies dismissively, trying to stay on task. “And I’m not sure how he got the house, probably inherited it? Be a question for Garcia. Do you think it matters?”

“Probably not, but I think we should speak to him.”

“The locals already did. It’s in the reports, I read them all. He let them search his house, there was no sign of her.” Spencer provides. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to interview him ourselves, assess firsthand whether he’s lying…but that brings us back to the point I was trying to make, which is that the trails, official and unofficial, would allow Amelia to get around unimpeded, without being seen.”

Now Hotch seems preoccupied, and Spencer wants his attention back on the map. Nudging him with his shoulder Spencer continues.

“I marked in black all the places we know she has been, and the notes you couldn’t read are dates and approximate times she appeared. It’s conceivable that she could get to any of these places, Green’s, the hospital to leave my gun, the Farland residence, using only the trails.”

“Ok…but you are talking about trails that aren’t even mapped, Spencer. I fail to see how this is going to help us find her. Add to our profile maybe, but actually locate her? How?” Hotch gives voice to his confusion, and further aggravates Spencer.

“Just listen, Hotch!” Spencer pleads. “Yes, she is using unmapped trails, but I believe the Jordan River trail is the key to finding her. Travel would be faster on a paved trail, it’s well used so she could blend in, and then disappear off onto the lesser used trails when it suits her. From there she can make her way up into the woods, or the mountains, and with her skills survive indefinitely. Just look at the places I’ve marked, the Jordan River trail is central to all of them!”

Hotch seems to contemplate that, glancing from Spencer to the map and back again. Taking a deep breath, he tries to reason.

“The locals have been searching the woods for weeks now, Spencer. They have trackers, helicopters, dogs, and they’ve turned up nothing.”

“No, of course not!” Spencer cries, wondering why Hotch is doubting him. “She is skilled, and she knows the terrain better than any of them I would bet. We will never catch her chasing her through the woods! She’s too smart for that, she will always see us coming. Don’t you get it, Hotch? She isn’t running from us; she has a plan, and she is calling the shots! We are just playing our parts.”

Hotch schools his expression carefully but Spencer can see that he has touched a nerve. Shifting his weight, Hotch moves back a step regarding Spencer carefully.

“What do you suggest we do then?” Hotch asks, and it’s a genuine question that warrants an answer.

“I think we post locals in plain clothes all along the Jordan River Trail. They need to blend expertly, or she will pick them out right away, and they need to know that she has likely changed her appearance. This is our chance, and we can’t blow it, Hotch.” Spencer says, knowing that it’s a long shot. Any action they take at this point will be a long shot though.

“I have no authority to order the locals to do anything, Spencer.” Hotch replies, carefully considering the situation and the options. “This is personal for them, they lost one of their own…I don’t think this is enough to compel them to pull men away from their search to patrol this trail looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“What they are doing is pointless!” Spencer shouts impassioned if not enraged. "Tell them that! She is watching them comb the woods and laughing. See if that changes their minds and ‘compels’ them to lend us their resources!”

Spencer turns to the desk, the feeling of helplessness growing rather than being alleviated by sharing with Hotch. He feels Hotch place a soothing hand on his back, and he wants to shrug it off almost as much as he wants him to keep it there. The pain, the frustration, and the work he has poured into a deeper understanding of the woman who almost killed him only to be second guessed feels like a crushing weight. _Despair, he names it…_ but then Hotch’s arms are around him, his breath on hot on his neck, and he’s whispering, placating maybe, but there is no way Spencer is going to pull away.

“You’re ok, everything is going to be ok. I’ll call the locals in the morning, convince them to help us. Whatever you need, Spencer. I’m here for whatever you need.”

Hotch may only be indulging, but his voice is a lifeline and Spencer grabs it, leaning back into his solid chest.

“Let’s go to bed. You need to sleep. I need to sleep.”

Spencer shakes his head desperately. “I can’t Hotch. I just…I can’t. There’s too much to do.”

He feels rather than sees the other man nod. “I think I can help. If you really don’t think you can sleep that is.”

Spencer shivers but he isn’t cold. “Not tired.” He insists. “We need to map locations she is likely to show up next using the information we have so…gah! Get ahead of her- “Spencer gasps as Hotch’s lips close around his earlobe, lightly sucking, licking…

“Tomorrow,” Hotch concedes. “Right now, bend over.”

It’s abrupt, it’s an order and it’s in direct contrast to the soft tone Hotch was just using. Spencer is confused.

“What are you doing?”

Hotch chuckles lightly, sidling up closer behind Spencer so that he can feel the outline of hard muscles, and hot breath back on his neck. Hotch’s hands are at Spencer waist, fingers digging into his hips, urging him toward the desk in front of them where the map lays.

“Giving you what you want.” Hotch's voice is rough, not unkind but not inviting questions either.

Spencer gives a short nervous laugh. “I-I- what? Oh!”

Hotch puts a hand between his shoulder blades and gives him a not so gentle forward nudge. Spencer’s hands shoot out to stop himself from face planting on top of his map.

“What the heck, Hotch!” Spencer squawks, less dignified than he would have liked. “Oh!”

Hotch rocks his hips forward, grinding against Spencer creating an arousing friction that has them both gasping. The length of their bodies connect as Hotch leans deliberately over Spencer, biting at his neck, with a guttural moan, claiming with his teeth, then his hands, grabbing Spencer’s hips, fingers digging into flesh, hard enough to bruise. Spencer feels his boss’ growing erection against the base of his tailbone, his own cock taking notice, heat rising from low in his belly, all the way to his now flushing cheeks. He sucks in a sharp breath just as the biting stops and soft lips graze the nape of his neck lovingly; their every inhale and exhale are in tune, no words needed as they fit naturally together.

“I thought-" Spencer moans, as one large sure hand snakes around to stroke the bulge in his pants with gentle, even pressure. “Mmmmn…I thought you needed time…ah!” The hand is pulled away but only long enough to slip into his waistband.

“Well,” Hotch purrs, directly into his ear, “it’s been about twenty minutes.” Moving his free hand up under Spencer’s t shirt, he walks his fingertips across Spencer’s stomach, all the way up to toy with his aroused nipples, his touch mercifully light and promising.

“God!” Spencer coughs, tingling in response to the stimulation. “Are you sure, Hotch?”

“Are you?” Hotch returns, pointedly, pausing for an answer. Permission to proceed.

“Yes!” Spencer gasps, and Hotch starts to tug his pants down over his hips, underwear going along with them. All this time showering with boxers on, only to be so very thrilled to have them removed, Spencer thinks.

“Look at me, Spencer.” Hotch orders, and Spencer twists over his shoulder to accept the older man’s mouth, pressing greedily into his, hungry, and faintly wild. Nothing like the sweet first kiss they shared, that was hesitant, a question really; no, this is savage, wanton and obviously meant as a precursor to more. It’s everything Spencer imagined it could be.

Pulling back, Hotch cups Spencer’s chin, staring down at him with a look that is equal parts primal need and adoration. Spencer feels the thrill of it go straight to his groin, where he is now fully hard and aching for more. With a wicked grin Hotch suddenly spins him to face forward again, forcing him all the way down onto his elbows on the desktop.

Shoving Spencer’s shirt up his back and gripping it to anchor him, Hotch works his way from Spencer’s neck, down his spine, kissing all the way to the cleft of his buttocks and back up. Spencer moans obscenely as his dick grows impossibly harder, wiping out all coherent thought. Bringing both arms around to Spencer’s front now, Hotch holds him fast as he nibbles at his ear before speaking again.

“What do you want, Spencer?” He growls, flattening his hands on the desk, either side of Spencer’s, covering him possessively. “Say it. What do you want?”

“Ah!” Spencer’s squeals, because Hotch’s own very hard dick, is now pressed against his naked ass, and it sends an unprecedented thrill through his entire body. Hotch is still clothed, but Spencer knows intuitively that will change as soon as he says yes.

“I want this! I mean you… please Hotch…keep going.” Spencer’s begs shamelessly.

That’s all the permission required and Hotch’s weight disappears. Spencer nearly panics, but there’s shuffling behind him, then strong arms are guiding him to stand and turn around.

Completely naked, Hotch bends to remove Spencer’s pants and underwear from around his ankles, asking without words for Spencer to lift his feet one by one. As Hotch reaches for the hem of his shirt, Spencer’s eyes rove up and down the man’s flawless physique, including his impressive fully erect cock, poised and ready. Suitably distracted he gives no thought to his own nudity as he places a tentative hand on Hotchs hip, sliding it slowly around to grip one firm buttock, tugging the man closer.

Taking hold of Spencer’s face, Hotch kisses with a new found intensity, trapping their erections between them, as he grinds his hips again, forcing them together in a deliciously painful move. His lips are firm, willing Spencer’s mouth to open and allow his tongue in to touch, taste, and experience his partner. Spencer leans in with a desperate cry, realizing he would be ecstatic to be melded to this man forever, his pillar of strength in the face of uncertainty.

Jerking away suddenly, Hotch looks him directly in the eyes. “Say yes, Spencer. Say yes and I will give you everything I have. Everything I am.” Hotch steals another kiss, chewing at Spencer’s lower lip as he breaks it off. “Say yes, and it will be just us, nothing else will exist.”

“God, yes!” Spencer shouts the invitation, giving himself up entirely, as Hotch wraps a hand firmly around his leaking member, other arm tightening around Spencer’s waist, boosting him onto the desk. Spencer doesn’t even wince at the tearing sound that must be his map. Circling his legs around Hotchs waist, he thrusts upwards unabashedly into Hotchs grip, groaning as Hotch laughs, keeping his strokes slow but steady.

“I want to fuck you, are you ready for that? To have me inside you?” Hotch whispers, licking and biting at Spencer’s exposed throat. “Spencer?”

All Spencer can manage is another groan, reveling in the overwhelming pleasure, embarrassingly close to climaxing into Hotchs hand.

“Spencer?” The voice is insistent now, not as throaty, worried not excited. “Spencer are you ok?”

Of course he’s ok…

Gasping, Spencer jolts upright, fighting to get control of his pounding heart, wincing as his healing wounds protest the sudden move. His shirt is drenched in sweat, and his pants are sticky and clinging to him too. For a panicked second he thinks he wet the bed, but then images from his dream flood his conscious mind and he realizes it’s worse than that…and Hotch is sitting right beside him.

* * *

Fort Smith is cold and cloudy, as Kate and JJ exit their motel in the early morning. They landed late the night before, but still in time for a few blessed hours of sleep. The drive to the August residence is short and JJ is apprehensive about the conversation they need to have. Being a mother herself, she has no desire to make Charlotte August relive the worst time in her life and says a silent prayer they get something to make it all worth it.

Pulling her FBI parka tighter around her, JJ searches the pockets for the too-thin-for- this weather, standard issue gloves as they step out of their borrowed SUV and survey the snow at their feet.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” She comments wryly to Kate, as they turn to the cozy, yellow sided bungalow where they were told Mrs. August is waiting and willing to speak with them. The place is picture perfect with its dusting of snow, freshly shoveled walkways, and smoke curling from the chimney, looking for all the world like a place where a family could be happy. There is no hint on the outside of the grief that probably lingers inside, and JJ has to force her thoughts away from what it must be like to survive a loss as total as your only child’s suicide.

“Sure is,” Kate replies with a shiver. “Snow has a way of covering up all the bad stuff.”

JJ shoots her a look, but there’s no time to elaborate because a tall, attractive, blonde haired woman is calling out to them from the car port attached to the side of the bungalow. Under the shelter of its roof alongside the neat stack of firewood sits a snowmobile and a dirt bike, partially covered with a tarp. JJ wonders if they once belonged to Ryan because they look like they’ve sat untouched for years.

“Ladies,” the woman greets, ushering them toward a side door. “Come on in this way. It will save us the cold draft in the living room. I’ve been waiting. Tea is on, I hope tea is ok?”

“Tea is more than we expected, thank you.” JJ tells her as they step inside, noting the resemblance between Ryan’s photo’s and his mother standing in front of them. Same honey coloured hair, large expressive eyes, and lean, graceful frame. “I’m FBI Special Agent Jareau, and this is Special Agent Callahan. We both work in the Behavioral analysis unit.”

They are quickly whisked into a quaintly decorated living room, complete with wood burning fireplace, by the pleasant woman who hasn’t introduced herself but is obviously Charlotte August. She tells them to sit while she gets the tea and JJ takes the opportunity to study the family photos on the walls and mantel. There are plenty of Ryan growing up, but the pictures stop at what appears to be early adolescence. There are pictures of Charlotte herself, Charlotte and her parents, Charlotte and baby Ryan but none of Charlotte and her husband. It’s as if the memories have been carefully crafted in favour of a more uplifting past, with the heartbreak of loss removed. Maybe she is just shaking off the cold, but JJ shivers and feels an actual twist in her gut as she imagines what it would be like to have the family you created crumble and disappear.

“Don’t think too much about it.” Kate advises from a nearby armchair, where she has taken her coat off and made herself comfortable.

“About what?” JJ replies.

“The loss, the grief.” Kate replies. “Imagining it was you, wondering what you would do if it happened to you. You can’t prepare. You can’t safeguard against it. Its better not to think about it.”

JJ’s brow furrows at that, but before she can comment, Charlotte August breezes back into the room carrying a tray with a teapot and cups. JJ takes a seat beside Kate in a second armchair, and Charlotte takes her place across from them setting the tray on the coffee table between them.

“I was glad to hear that you wanted to talk to me.” Charlotte starts, with a smile. “After so many years, the FBI interested in my boy? There has to be something to that.”

JJ gives a wary smile, glancing at Kate, then accepting the cup of tea. There is nothing they can do to help her son now. They both know it’s too late for that.

“First you have our sympathies, ma’am.” JJ promises sincerely. “We know that it can’t be easy to talk about, and it is not our intention to open old wounds.”

“With all due respect, agent, the wounds will never be old for me.” Charlotte clears her throat. “Not for me.” She repeats.

“Of course. What we do hope, is to make some sense of what happened.” Kate jumps in. “We are looking for the woman your son was allegedly dating right before his death.”

Charlotte, meets Kate’s gaze, appearing to consider that.

“I don’t know anything about her,” she says after a moment, setting her cup down as she does. JJ hasn’t missed how shaky her hand is. “I didn’t then, and I don’t now. I’m not sure what I can offer.”

“Did anyone else meet this woman? Ryan’s friends? A teacher at school maybe? His Dad?” JJ asks, leaning forward to offer a hand for comfort. Charlotte hesitates before taking it.

“Do you see his Dad here?” She asks snidely. “I can’t speak for him, he left years ago. But he and Ryan weren’t close…at the end. I cannot imagine why he would know something I don’t.”

JJ and Kate exchange a glance, both wondering if the father is worth a conversation.

“Did Ryan talk about her?” Kate asks softly, pressing on.

“Yes, some.” Charlotte sniffs, taking her hand back to fold with the other in her lap. “He was so different during that time, that I asked him outright about it. He said he met a girl and he actually smiled. Lit up. He told me she was older, and he thought I wouldn’t approve. It had been so long since I saw him happy though…older seemed a small enough concern in the face of that.”

Kate nods knowingly, pulling the picture of Amelia from her pocket. “Mrs. August, do you recognize this woman?”

Taking it, Charlotte stares down at it thoughtfully. “Call me Charlotte please. Seriously. August…well I hate that name now. I only keep it because it was Ryan’s too.” She takes a shuddering breath, keeping her poise by force. “I have never seen her. She’s beautiful, a bit exotic. I would remember, I think. Most people around here I’ve known all my life, new people stand out.”

“We have reason to believe that this is the woman your son was dating. Are you certain you never ran into her around town?” Kate prods gently, digging for anything useful. She hands over the photo of Amelia at the track meet. “This is the same woman at your sons track meet in 2006.”

Charlotte takes that photo too, looking uncertain now, studying it intently as if she could will herself to have met her.

“I was there.” She shares, worry creasing her brow. “How could I not remember her? I don’t though. I’m sorry, I just don’t.”

Charlotte hands the pictures back and begins to spin the wedding ring that is still on her left hand, making JJ wonder if she has truly given up on her marriage.

“Is there anything else you could share with us about that time?” Kate tries again. “No detail is too small. Something Ryan said, a name he used, anything at all.”

There is a long pause during which JJ and Kate remain hopeful. What they really need is something to confirm Amelia’s connection to Ryan; a connection that is seeming more tenuous by the moment.

“There is Mr. Atkinson, the English teacher at the high school. Ryan liked him, and he always encouraged Ryan’s writing. He may have talked to him.” Charlotte offers doubtfully. “I don’t know that they discussed his personal life, though. The gym teacher was kind to him, but if he confided anything in him it was never shared with me.”

JJ and Kate stay quiet sensing that the woman has something else she wants to reveal, but she’s wrestling with herself. Whatever it is, they want to know.

“There are his journals.” Charlotte offers at last, clearly uncertain, casting a wary glance at the door as if someone is likely to burst through it. “You’ll think I’m awful because I didn’t give them to the police, but this is small community…I just couldn’t hand over Ryan’s private thoughts. They aren’t fodder for the rumour mill.”

JJ is taken aback, eyebrows shooting up. Kate keeps her features neutral.

“Have you read them?” Kate asks gently, no evident judgement in her voice.

“Some, not nearly all.” Charlotte reaches for some tissues on an end table. “It was…awful…to read how deeply troubled he was. To know he didn’t think he could tell me...I failed him. If only…” She trails off, wiping at her face angrily. “Anyway, I don’t know what you’ll get out of it, but you can take them. Let me get them.”

JJ looks to Kate while they are alone, disbelieving that the journals have been kept secret. Kate simply shrugs.

“At least we can read them now.”

Charlotte returns with three leather bound journals that look well worn, as if someone spent hours writing in them, and even more hours turning the pages and rereading what they wrote.

“Please, understand that I couldn’t hand these over to just anyone.” Charlotte holds the books to her chest lovingly, stroking their bindings. Maybe she once stroked her son’s hair like that, JJ thinks; before he grew up and turned into someone she didn’t know. “They’re all that he left, and I wanted to know…” she stops, biting her lip, trying not to be overwhelmed by emotion.

“Anyway, there are some poems that I think could be about her. Or maybe not. I don’t know.” She stares at the journals with reverence. “They’re beautiful. The poems. He was talented, I think. Can I have them back? When you’re done?” She turns an expectant gaze on them.

“You can, of course, but we would like to take them with us, for now.” JJ tells her, curious about what the books might tell them. Eager to comb through them, but mindful of the attachment this mother has to them.

“Charlotte,” Kate edges forward in her chair. “You told the police that you knew Ryan had suicidal thoughts. Was he seeing a psychiatrist?”

Charlotte shakes her head. “He was admitted to hospital a few times, but there just aren’t enough services here. They said he wasn’t a danger to himself. That he hadn’t made a real plan to die.” She pauses, struggling with her guilt. “I believed them, believed him. He didn’t want a therapist when I brought it up.”

“This is hard to talk about and I apologize for asking, but Ryan cut his wrists, correct? Here in the house?” Kate pursues as delicately as possible.

They are asking because the M.E and police reports were somewhat vague, but as Charlotte recoils as if the question physically wounded her, JJ worries she wont answer.

It takes a long time, but she eventually nods.

“Yes, he was here alone.” She stammers, regret hanging heavily in the air. “We were away for the weekend, visiting my husband’s sister. She had just had a baby. I found him in the bathtub when we came home.” She shudders, understandably. “And in case you’re curious I wake up every morning thinking about how different things would be if I had just stayed. Or if we had never come here for that matter. We came because they were so desperate for nurses, I thought I could do some good and instead I lost everything…”

JJ nods, wishing they didn’t have to torment this woman, but it definitely meant Amelia could have been here. What teenage boy wouldn’t have his girlfriend over while his parents were away?

“There was no investigation, you know.” Charlotte continues, exchanging regret for rage. “It was just suicide. Ryan died, and people could-can- barely face me. The funeral home asked if we would rather bury him ‘quietly’.” Bitterness veritably drips from her words. “Just a couple weeks before, when the Curtis boy and his friends were killed in that awful snowmobile accident, the whole town mourned. They rallied, even though everyone knew those boys were trouble and probably drunk.” Glancing up she seems to realize how she sounds. “Sorry, that’s awful…but its not right that I’m expected to forget my son just because he made a bad choice! Or that Jenny Curtis gets to celebrate her son's life, while I’m supposed to let Ryan just fade away…”

That is the end of Charlotte’s stoicism and she covers her face, giving in to tears and old, barely contained grief. JJ gets up to move to the couch beside her, to comfort her, only to have the journals roughly thrust into her hands.

“I’m giving these to you because Ryan was so much more than his suicide. Ryan had so much potential, and maybe it was me that let him down, or the system, or whatever…anyway hopefully you can use them, and if not, you can get to know him. He wasn’t bad. He was wonderful.”

JJ’s eyes are wet now, and Kate turns her face away. It feels wrong to leave now, but they can’t stay either. This isn’t their tragedy, just one they dredged up.

Offering this woman she just met the most comforting hug she can, JJ stands to put her coat on, but Charlotte grabs her wrist.

“I’m a nurse. I’ve always worked in long term care, but I’m not ignorant.” Her eyes are haunted. “The doctor told me that both arteries in Ryan’s arm were severed. Do you know what kind of determination that would take? He cut from his wrist to his elbow so deep that there was no real hope of survival. Did you know that’s almost unheard of, to be able to do that sort of damage to yourself? That’s how badly he wanted to leave this world. To leave me. It was no accident, not just a cry for help.”

JJ gulps, not because she isn't used to hearing vile, disturbing, details all the time, but because a mother shouldn’t have to know that about her son…or to find him in a bathtub overflowing with blood. Grasping the hand holding her wrist, JJ says, “Thank you, Charlotte. I am so sorry we couldn’t help Ryan, but you have helped us so much.”

As JJ and Kate reach the door, they think that Charlotte August is out of disturbing revelations. But standing, in the kitchen arms crossed, she waits until the door is open letting in the freezing cold to call to them.

“The Curtis boy, the one that died? He bullied Ryan. Since grade school, he couldn’t leave him alone. But they made bumper stickers for him. Now, I’d never say they deserved to die, but they weren’t good kids either. Everyday I work at being something other than bitter, angry and mean, but I’m telling you now they weren’t heroes, and Ryan was so much more than a terrible ending.” She heaves a huge, broken sigh, eyes on the floor in front of her collecting herself. “Anyway, it’s hard. I won’t keep you, and I hope the journals help you.”

JJ and Kate get in the car, the words ‘it was no accident’ resonating as they drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a chapter, am I right? I think it was worth the wait, even if I do say so myself. Lots of new information and some leads to follow up on and that scene! You know the one! *fans self* Hot, am I right? Okay, so they didn't do the deed and it may have been a dream, but cut us some slack, Spencer should probably still be in the hospital, the logistics demanded it be a dream. 
> 
> As always, there is more to come so please send Kudos and Comments and let us know what you think! Though it may not seem like it with the length of time between updates, we plan these chapters way in advance, it just takes us a while to get it on paper, we have not and will not ever abandon this story!
> 
> Don't forget to hit that subscribe button so that you can be notified when we update next! 
> 
> ~CC~


	23. Magnanimous

#### Chapter 23

### Magnanimous

What Spencer thought would be humiliating, turned out to be more indicative of just how committed Hotch was to caring for him. Without asking for an explanation he lifted Spencer from the bed and brought him to the bathroom to clean up, while he went to retrieve new sweats. Dressing Spencer with a gentle touch, he led him back to the darkened room tucking them into his own bed together.

“Your sheets are sweaty. Housekeeping can change them tomorrow.” Hotch whispered by way of explanation.

Under the clean blankets, close enough to Hotch to feel the heat from his body, Spencer can’t think of a time he felt so safe. The closest would have to be when his mom would let him crawl into her bed while she read aloud from Faust and Dickens, letting him tuck himself up next to her to soak up her warmth. She would pat his back occasionally, or brush a soft kiss over his crown, barely pausing as she rambled out the familiar words of the books, they had read dozens of times before. It was the only bit of acceptance he could count on from her, and it meant the world to a lonely, awkward, little boy who needed his mom…but maybe not as much as Hotch’s firm grip when he reaches over to pull Spencer tight to his chest, wrapping a protective arm around him to keep him close.

“It’s nice to hold someone again. Been a long time.” Hotch says softly, jostling Spencer lightly, careful not to dislodge him from where he now lays on his chest. “It feels right.”

Spencer breathes in, the closeness as welcome as it was unexpected.

“That’s because the physical touch is increasing production of serotonin and dopamine in your brain, which are both neurotransmitters known to relieve stress, and promote relaxation.” He supplies the information in a matter of fact tone. “You are understandably worried about the case, and probably having trouble sleeping, and having me close is stimulating your brains pleasure center. Just the repetitive motion of stroking my back is reducing your anxiety, and just 20 seconds is enough to trigger the release of oxytocin, which is the hormone associated with feelings of contentment and connection to another human being, and that counter acts the affect of cortisol that was likely-“ Spencer is cut short by Hotch pulling him closer still, giving an easy, appreciative laugh. Hotch doesn’t take it personally, but he wonders if Spencer realizes how neatly he just reduced their blossoming relationship to science and chemical reactions.

“What about you? Are you experiencing the same rush of hormones?” Hotch asks, rubbing a thumb over Spencer’s cheek, smiling fondly down at him.

The comment isn’t meant to touch a nerve, but Spencer has never had a chance to form a secure attachment to anyone, so it does. His mothers mental illness rendered her unpredictable, and his father abandoned him to face it alone. His high IQ meant he understood his mother’s limitations, but his inexperience told him it was his fault. If he could be easier, smarter, better then he would be loved…the mantra of the insecure…so, while yes, he experiences the rush, it is tainted by anxiety.

“Yes…” Spencer responds, fingers plucking at the front of Hotch’s t-shirt. “I used to love climbing into bed with my mom. If she was distracted with her books, she would put her arm around me and read aloud. It felt…safe. Like this.”

Hotch swears he can feel his heart break, imagining Spencer as a little boy so clever he could label his mothers shortcomings in psychological terms. Most kids would curl up and cry out their loneliness, but Spencer was afflicted with a mind that understood what his emotions couldn’t process, driving him to search for a solution. The confusion must have been monumental, and his aversion to touch a result of his enduring fear of rejection. Hotch shifts the younger man, fitting him more tightly to his side, unable to resist kissing the top of his head, veritably vibrating with the desire to fix every hurt Spencer had ever been forced to endure.

“Spencer…” Hotch starts, trying to put his feelings into words. “You know I-"

“Aaron, you don’t have to,” Spencer objects, turning his face further into Hotch’s chest. “I’m in pain and vulnerable and that’s bringing out your protective instincts. It’s another affect of oxytocin. It’s what fuels the instinct of animals to care for their young, and the strong in general to shelter the weak. I get it, I have a degree in psychology.”

Hotch has to contain his hurt at having his feelings so neatly packaged and diminished. No matter how practical Hotch is, or how in control he seems, he believes in love; in something bigger than a release of hormones telling your body to hug someone.

Hotch sighs deeply. “Spencer, when you cut me off did you think I was about to explain how undependable I am?”

Spencer stiffens, but Hotch refuses to let him pull away. Instead he moves the hand that had been rubbing Spencer’s back, up to his hair, pulling his fingers through its soft length, pausing to ease out the tangles. He doesn’t do it with purpose, just let’s himself enjoy the feeling. He’s rewarded when Spencer moans softly, his fingers stilling where they had been worrying at Hotch’s shirt.

“I am going to earn your trust, Spencer Reid. Whatever it takes.” Hotch whispers tenderly to the top of Spencer’s head, where it’s become nestled under his chin. “What I was going to say, before I was interrupted, is that I know I’m not good at expressing my feelings, and I’m sorry if I confuse you…but I want you to know that losing you isn’t something I could live through.”

Spencer’s eyelids start to droop, the gentle tugging at his hair relaxing his body, even as his overactive mind processes Hotch’s short speech; and maybe it’s because he’s tired that he misses Hotch’s point. “You won’t lose me.” He murmurs, not pausing to think about Hotch’s marriage, and how much it hurt him when Hayley left; or how her murder nearly broke him.

“I might,” Hotch exhales ruefully. “And it terrifies me.”

With a minute shake of his head, Spencer disagrees. “Impossible.”

Hotch lets it go, opting to hold onto the moment, alternating between rubbing Spencer’s back, and smoothing his wild mop of hair. Life is full of risks, and up until now Hotch hasn’t come across more than a few he wouldn’t take on, but there was a lot to be considered with this one; the compromising of their professional relationship, the sacrificing of their current dynamic, and the Amelia Porter case that could taunt them for a lifetime.

Settling further back against the headboard, Hotch realizes from the deep, even, sound of his breathing, that Spencer has fallen asleep, and decides to do the same.

* * *

Hotch startles awake at the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand, the irritating noise impossible to ignore no matter how groggy and fresh from sleep he is. Disoriented and not fully awake, he reaches for it, catching it deftly when he almost knocks it on the floor.

“Agent Hotchner,” he answers, even as he works to gently extricate himself from Spencer, who has curled around him in his sleep. Hotch knows he will have to wake him as soon when he hears the Sheriffs voice on the line, but Spencer is far from healed and Hotch prefers not to startle him.

“Where?” Green’s van has been located, and the sheriff is asking them to go take a look. Spencer’s eyes open slowly as Hotch manages to slide out from under him, and he watches Hotch stumble to the desk to grab a pen and paper. With a glance over his shoulder he asks into the phone, “While I have you, I need to ask if you could lend us some men.”

Hotch moves to the bathroom to give the Sherriff the rest of the details, before dressing quickly and returning to the room. It’s just after 8, and they have a new lead to investigate, so there won’t be anymore sleep for them today.

Spencer is where Hotch left him in the bed, and Hotch hates how wrung out he looks even after a decent amount of sleep. The persistent pain, the nightmares, and preoccupation are draining them both, but for now they will have to persevere. Spencer won’t want to miss searching Green’s van, even if Hotch were willing to leave him alone in the room.

“What did he say?” Spencer asks as he observes Hotch, who is rooting through their bags.

“A van was found at a storage facility in Sandy. Plate matches Professor Green's.” Hotch tosses pants, shirt, sweater and socks onto the bed at Spencer’s feet. “The Sherriff thought we might want to take a look. It’s about 20 minutes from here.”

“And the Jordan River Trail? Are they going to patrol it? I would like to brief them first.” Spencer struggles to sit up, wincing, but waving Hotch’s helpful hands away.

“We can talk about it in the car. I’d like to see this van.” Hotch puts him off firmly, glad for the distraction of his phone ringing again.

“It’s Garcia.” He says, picking it up he motions for Spencer to start getting dressed while he takes the call.

* * *

Sandy Self Storage turns out to be a somewhat defunct looking facility that had certainly seen better days. That said, it has abundant space where it’s located at the very edge of town, bordering on a thick stand of trees on one side, and a locally owned trucking company on the other. Inside it’s 10 ft high chain link fences, sits a massive drive shed, and what Hotch estimates is around 200 storage lockers, laid out in rows, behind the small building that serves as an office.

They are allowed through the massive entry gate, that grinds and squeaks as it slides on its track, after buzzing the office to let them know they’ve arrived. Checking out the premises Hotch is hard pressed to figure out how the van was abandoned here, unless it was by a renter who had the gate code. Hopefully, Jesse, the employee who called in the stolen van, will be able to clarify.

Hotch exits the SUV, Spencer opting to stay inside for the time being, sullenly watching out the window. The conversation on their way here had been tense after Hotch informed him that the locals weren’t keen on policing the Jordan River Trail. He had been intrigued by Garica’s information, but it had only provided so much distraction, since it didn’t amount to an effective lead yet.

Turning his full attention to Jesse, who is watching him closely from where he stands on the steps up to the office, and who appears to be all of 18 years old, Hotch offers his hand to shake.

“I’m Agent Hotchner with the FBI,” he introduces himself, nodding toward the SUV. “And that’s my partner, Dr. Reid.”

Jesse takes the offered hand with a wary smile. “Jesse Lang. My Uncle owned this place, but he died recently. I’ve been looking after it since then, while the family sorts out what to do with it.”

Hotch takes another look around him. The parking lot is unpaved, the office building is no more than a glorified shack, and the outdoor storage scattered around adds to the derelict appearance of the place. He doesn’t note the presence of any security cameras, though he fervently hopes there are some cleverly hidden.

“It was you who found the van then?” Hotch inquires, eyes back on the kid who is studying him critically now.

“Uh yeah,” Jesse replies, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t really expect the FBI to show up, though.”

“The theft of the van in question, is related to our active investigation. That’s why we’re here.” Hotch explains, giving the kid a reassuring smile.

“Ok,” Jesse says dubiously, pushing his floppy hair back out of his face. He points toward the back of the expansive property. “It’s all the way at the back. I’ll take you to it.”

“Can we drive in?” Hotch hesitates, knowing Spencer won’t appreciate a long walk on uneven terrain.

Jesse agrees to take his own car and let them follow. There are well laid out gravel paths to drive on, though they are riddled with potholes, and the locker turns out to be backed up against the fence that separates the far edge of the property from the woods beyond. They stop in front of the row of 10 garage sized units, all sporting bright red roll up doors, one door already standing wide open. Hotch gets out first to grab Spencer’s cane, then lets him take his time sliding down and out of the vehicle. The patchy ground is a challenge for him, so Hotch stays just ahead of him in case he trips, as they make their way along the line of lockers, to the open door near the far end. Jesse is already out of his car waiting, looking as though he has better things to do.

“What happened to you? You get shot?” He blurts at Spencer obtusely as they join him. “And they make you keep working?”

Spencer grunts in irritation as he sidles up beside Hotch, close enough to lean on him for stability. “No, I did not.” He grouches at the kid, then changes the subject back to the matter at hand. “Care to tell us who rents this particular locker?” His eyes are locked on the van, which is fronted in, displaying the personalized rear license plate “GREENRY”.

“Someone named George Porter. I looked it up after I found it like this. Thought someone had been here and just forgot to close the door.” Jesse supplies. Hotch and Spencer keep any reaction from showing on their faces as they process that. “My Uncle wasn’t so hot at keeping records, he was just working on switching to computer so I’m going by what’s written in his ledger. Dude rented the locker in 2010, paid yearly, in cash, it looks like.”

Both Spencer and Hotch do a double take at the name, which presents a whole lot more questions, and all the more reason to talk to George. Maybe there is more to his relationship with Amelia than he let on to the police years ago.

“This is exactly how you found everything? Did you touch anything?” Spencer asks, his tone haughtier than Hotch thinks is necessary. This kid is just the middleman passing information, he isn’t part of their larger investigation, and there is no need to be combative with him.

“No, I didn’t touch anything.” Jesse retorts, annoyed. “I’m not dumb. I saw the news yesterday and I recognized the plate. It’s weird that whoever brought it left the door up like that. If they had closed it, I would have never known it was here. People bring their own locks, and we respect their privacy. We don’t know what’s inside once the lockers are rented.” Jesse comments, and Hotch has to conclude that whoever left it here, intended for the van to be found.

Spencer moves over to take a closer look, while Hotch asks, “Did you ever meet George Porter? Accept payment from him?”

“I didn’t, but my Uncle might have. Like I said, whoever he is, he paid cash once a year, so he likely came in person. But it’s a self storage, people pay their money, they get the gate code, and they come and go as they please. They don’t want to get to know us.” Jesse provides in a snarky tone. “I can give you the address and phone number he left, but Amelia Porter is the lady all over the news, right? The one everyone is looking for? Thought that was an odd coincidence, so I didn’t try to call him. Figured I would leave that up to the cops.”

Hotch appreciates that, because he would like to ask George Porter himself why his storage locker now contains a stolen van, and what it contained before.

“What about security?” Hotch asks. “Camera’s?”

“There’s a camera on the gate. You can monitor it from the office, but it doesn’t record. The fence is in good shape, the units are locked, and I come every morning to check the place out. It’s secure enough, and anyway people know what they’re getting when they rent here.” Jesse crosses his arms defensively.

Perfect, Hotch thinks, at least for Amelia. “So, you don’t know what was in the locker before the van was put here, and anyone with the gate code could get in and put the van in the locker unobserved, except for the hour or so you are here every morning?” Hotch sums up earnestly, Jesse grunting a grudging affirmative.

Hotch turns when Spencer calls to him from inside the locker, where he must have found something in the van.

“Thanks Jesse.” Hotch tells the youth, dismissing him kindly. “We can take it from here. We will take a quick look, and there’s already a tow truck on the way to pick up the van if you could wait around.”

Jesse agrees, and promises to meet them at the office on their way out, then heads to his car, leaving Hotch free to join Spencer.

* * *

There is no more than enough room in the locker to accommodate the van that has been parked there, left unlocked, and remarkably clean. There is nothing cluttering the floor, the seats in the very back have been folded into the floor to leave a large flat space for cargo, and only 2 bucket seats remain in the middle row. The carpets are meticulously vacuumed, probably shampooed as well, and a brand new air freshener hangs from the rear-view mirror. There is nothing tucked in the visors and the console in front is empty, except for the van’s own keys, conveniently left for anyone wanting to drive it. Great care has been taken to leave no evidence of any kind, but Spencer already knows that the local forensics team will process it and find nothing of value.

Huffing a breath, he is disappointed without knowing why. He hadn’t known he was expecting anything, but another dead end feels like a loss regardless. He picks up the keys, thinking he will make sure the van starts, so Hotch can back it out into the light for a second look. He’s glad he did.

Even in the dim light, the ring in the cup holder sparkles and, interest piqued, Spencer plucks it out, holding it delicately between two fingers, careful not to touch the diamond. His memory supplies the words from Derek’s briefing…

_Platinum band…princess cut diamond…Tiffany setting…_

Jewellery isn’t an area of particular interest for Spencer, but he has a talent for picking up facts, statistics, and general knowledge that serves him now. The diamond is high quality, minimum 1.5 carats, the colour and clarity appear flawless, though he would need to check in better light. It is a simple ring, but the cut is excellent, the setting elegant, and it matches Derek’s description perfectly.

He calls for Hotch, excited because this has to be the ring; the missing ring from the truck, Amelia’s ring, that she kept next to her Father’s locket. He searches for an inscription as Hotch slides into the passenger seat beside him.

Hotch glances over his shoulder, taking in the barren interior of the pristine van, then focuses on Spencer who is holding the ring up to his face, squinting at it.

“What’s that?”

“Look at it, Hotch!” Spencer finishes scrutinizing, pressing the ring into Hotch’s open palm. “It’s the ring! It has to be. The one Derek originally found in the truck, the one that vanished with the locket and the safe. And look at the inscription! Look, Hotch!”

Hotch does as he’s told, holding the ring up to catch the light from the open door behind them.

CR for SW Always

“CR and SW…” Hotch reads out loud, though Spencer obviously knows what it says already. “Cole Rainville and Sarah Ward? Is that what you’re thinking? Ok…well I agree, big coincidence if it’s not the same ring from the truck. Where did you find it?”

“Cupholder, under the keys.” Spencer tells him, holding out his hand to take the ring back. “That’s all I found. The van is cleaner than it has any right to be. I doubt we will find so much as a stray hair in it.”

Hotch acknowledges that with a noncommittal noise, opening the glove box, and finding only the registration and insurance information; nothing else, not even an old receipt or some napkins.

“Amelia kept it all this time, then risked going back to her truck to get it,” Spencer ponders, turning the ring between his fingers. “Then she just left it here for us to find. What do you think it means, Hotch?”

“Maybe nothing.” Hotch shuts the glove box, swiveling in his seat to face Spencer. “Maybe she was in a hurry and left it by mistake.”

“I don’t think Amelia does anything by mistake.” Spencer objects distractedly, never taking his eyes off the ring.

“Don’t start thinking like that, Spencer.” Hotch warns seriously. “No one is infallible. Everyone make mistakes.”

“Cole Rainville said that he proposed and then she ran. It has to be the ring he gave her. She must have cared about him to keep it all this time.” Spencer continues, ignoring Hotch’s warning.

“She didn’t keep it. She left it here.” Hotch stonewalls, not nearly as impressed with the find as Spencer.

“You know what I mean.” Spencer pursues, frowning as his mind races. “She hung onto it a long time, kept it with her Dad’s locket. Why keep it, after you left the man who gave it to you? Unless you still loved him. Maybe she didn’t want to leave.”

“Money?” Hotch suggests, taking another look around him. There isn’t even any dust on the dashboard. He see’s what Spencer means; it’s too clean. “If it’s real, it must be worth something.”

“It’s real.” Spencer insists. “If that were true, why leave it now?”

“I told you, by mistake. We are going in circles here, Spencer.”

“What about the inscription?” Spencer asks stubbornly. “ _Always_ …Cole Rainville saw something in her that he loved. We need to talk to him, Hotch.”

Hotch sighs. He doesn’t really want to insist that _‘always’_ is a common inscription, just a pretty sentiment that fits with the limits of engraving. Concise and meaningful. But the truth is, relationships devolve, people grow apart, and _‘always’_ all too often turns into a gross overestimation.

“Sure, at some point, yes. Right now it’s more important that we talk to George Porter and find out if he’s been keeping better tabs on his cousin than he let on." In his gut Hotch doesn’t believe that George Porter knows where Amelia is now, the locals don’t believe he does, or that he did back then, after Miriam’s death. Still, he may be able to tell them something about her, what motivates her, and where she might go now.

“Of course.” Spencer looks up now, eyes boring into Hotch’s. “But don’t you think there’s more to this? If she was in love with Cole Rainville, then she might not be a sociopath, and our profile might be all wrong, Hotch. Sociopaths don’t fall in love and keep their lover's ring to remember them by…she wouldn’t have emotions that deep, right?”

Spencer is waiting for an answer, and Hotch truly doesn’t have one. He could guess, but guesses are dangerous and could potentially add fuel to a fire that Hotch would rather put out. He reaches out to take Spencer’s hand.

“Let’s ask George Porter. He knew her, maybe he can shed some light on what makes her tick.”

Spencer gives a solemn nod, moving to slide carefully out of the van on his side. “We can tell the locals about the ring, but I’m hanging onto it.” He shoots back as he does.

* * *

George Porter lives in a nice, but simple log home, with a red front door that matches the red steel roof. The house sits on a good sized lot, roughly ten acres, most of it wooded with only a small patch tamed into a yard of sorts. It isn’t derelict, but it is carelessly maintained, not entirely unusual for a bachelor living on his own. Spencer and Hotch stand outside taking a moment to process that this is where Amelia grew up, her childhood likely spent playing in the woods that came practically to her doorstep.

There is a beat-up Jeep in the driveway, the kind that people tend to admire no matter the condition, but other than that there are no signs of life. Hotch is vaguely worried that George Porter may have been on Amelia’s radar after all, and that family is not off limits.

They climb the steps to door cautiously, Hotch’s hand on his gun, the place making him increasingly wary. He feels watched, but it could be his mind trumping up charges against a quaint rural property that’s only crime was unwittingly housing a killer in the making. All the same he nudges Spencer, hyper aware that the younger agent is unarmed and using a cane. “Stay close to me.” He orders.

Hotch knocks heavily on the door when they reach it, and when it’s not immediately answered he shouts, “FBI, open the door. We are here to talk.”

A man of average height, and medium build pulls the door open surprisingly quick. He has dark hair and shockingly blue eyes, and the resemblance to the pictures of Amelia is eerie. Hotch feels Spencer stiffen beside him so he knows he must see it too. The man holds his hands in the air letting the door swing wide, and Hotch draws his gun with practiced speed when he realizes the man is armed.

“Don’t shoot! I’m putting it down, just don’t shoot!” The man, who is without a doubt George, gasps out. “I have a permit, this is my home. I’m not doing anything illegal.”

Motioning with his own gun, Hotch gives George the go ahead to set the gun down, safety engaged, on a small table just inside the door.

“Sure,” Hotch growls. “Just don’t point it at federal agents. I can holster my weapon? You’re not going to give us any trouble?”

George Porter shakes his head frantically, but his eyes dart over Hotch's shoulder as he steps aside to allow them in, closing the door with a bang behind them.

The house is cozy inside, furniture old but not badly worn, throw rugs covering large parts of the floor in the living room to their left. In front of them a staircase leads to the second floor, and on their right a huge eat in kitchen is laid out, complete with wood stove that’s cold despite the chill outside. Hotch thinks that’s odd.

“Come on into the kitchen. I can make coffee.” George offers, leaving the gun by the door and waving for them after him.

Not entirely at ease, Hotch stays standing while George fusses with the coffee maker. Spencer eyes are traveling over the room with avid interest, Hotch notices, taking in details that will all be committed to memory. The room is cozy despite its large size, painted deep buttery yellow, frilly curtains covering the windows, a frog sponge holder by the sink. It is entirely normal, if a bit outdated, and Hotch bets it hasn’t changed since George took over.

“The cops have been here already, twice.” George’s voice cuts into Hotch's thoughts. “She isn’t here. Amelia.”

He has turned around and is leaning back against the counter, nervously watching Spencer move around the room exploring.

“Ok.” Hotch replies, marveling again at the similarities between the man and his cousin. “We want to hear whatever you can tell us about her.”

George sighs, his body language relaxing marginally. “I told the police what I knew back when she killed Miriam.”

Hotch scoffs at that. “If you know she killed Miriam, you know more than we do. Is that something she admitted to you?”

George is instantly defensive. “Everyone knows that!” He claims adamantly. “Her and that crazy kid that was always hanging off her.”

“Benton Farland?” Spencer clarifies, seating himself at the table, folding his hands on the table. “Is that the crazy kid you mean?”

George turns to gather mugs and sugar to place on the table. “Yes, he was young, but she liked that.”

“You said that in your original statement. You didn’t say much else, though.” Hotch points out, already mistrustful. George’s jerky movements, the way he needs to keep his hands busy, and his head down give Hotch the impression he has something to hide.

“Were you and Amelia close?” Spencer interjects, genuine in his curiosity.

“No, not at all really.” George shrugs, moving to the fridge for milk. “I was 12 when I came to live with them, and she had just turned 16. Amelia wasn’t a friendly person, sometimes she was downright mean, but it was pretty normal, I guess.”

“Tell us what you remember about her.” Hotch says, joining them at the table when George grabs the coffee pot and sits down across from Spencer.

George gives some real thought to his answer. “Well she was always hanging out with Uncle Gordon. They were real close at first, always out in the woods hiking, hunting, or just camping. I mean it was odd for a teenage girl, but then she wasn’t your average girl.” He barks a humourless laugh. “A lot of times they’d shoot for fun, you know? She was real good at it, like guns, bows, anything you put in her hands. Scary good. Give her a rifle and she could hit a target at 1,000 yards every single time.” George pauses to pour the coffee, offering sugar and cream which Hotch declines and Spencer accepts.

“She never said it, but I don’t think she liked me tagging along.” George continues recollecting. “Uncle Gord would always include me, and she would give me the coldest looks. She laughed every time I missed a target, and she would say things like, ‘better luck next time, Georgie Porgie,’ or ‘good thing you don’t need to shoot to eat, Georgie boy’…I mean, I wasn’t good like she was, but I was decent for your average 12 year old.”

Spencer nods at that, and Hotch thinks he might be sympathizing, thinking of his own high school experience with the jocks.

“She had friends that dropped in and out, though I don’t remember anyone spending a lot of time, except Miriam. They would go camping together on the weekends Uncle Gord was away.” George smirks as he passes along his next bit of information. “Rumours went around that the two of them were more than friends, if you know what I mean?” Hotch suppresses an eye roll. “Course no one said it to Amelia’s face. She was gorgeous, the boys loved her, and I think the other girls were just jealous.”

“You said she was close with her Dad, at first,” Spencer reminds George, trying to keep the story moving. “What did you mean?”

“Oh ya. Well, a few months after I moved in, she got real distant. With everyone, but you noticed it most with her Dad. Before that she really adored him, but she was sweet to her mom too. Aunt Claire really was the nicest person.” George tells them, clutching his mug tighter. “Then one weekend her Dad went away, which wasn’t unusual, he did it a lot, and she disappeared too. That wasn’t unusual either, she liked to be alone, loved to be outside, and like I said she would camp alone or with Miriam. But when she came back this time, she was…just different. Colder, harder, meaner. Missed a lot of school. I never saw her friends after that. She didn’t hang out with Uncle Gord anymore, wouldn’t even answer him when he talked to her. It was just me and him going shooting or fishing then. I know it bugged the hell out of him, but he never said anything out loud.”

They all take a minute to sip their coffee and think over what’s been said. What had happened to Amelia that weekend…was it the stressor that turned her into a killer? Or just teenage drama? George made it sound like Amelia had never been what you would call ‘normal’, but did that mean she was mentally ill, or just different?

“Anyhow, things went on like that for awhile. It really hurt Uncle Gord. She would take off and he would just stare after her, looking sad. Then, toward the end of her junior year there was an incident, and shit hit the fan.” George says this last part softly, almost as if he’s hoping they won’t hear, and he won’t have to explain.

“An incident?” Hotch repeats.

“Uh, ya, don’t know what else you’d call it. I heard about it, of course, even though I wasn’t at the high school, but no details. Uncle Gordon and Aunt Claire wouldn’t talk about it, not to me.” George swirls the coffee in the bottom of his cup for a moment. “Rumour was Amelia nearly killed a kid…Thomas something. He was running back for the football team. Hard to imagine, but I heard them fighting about it one night.”

“Them?” Hotch questions, wanting to be clear.

“Amelia and her parents. I listened from the stairs.” George says, pouring more coffee, looking troubled. “Aunt Claire cried, Uncle Gord yelled. I had never heard him yell before. Amelia asked them what they expected her to do, and her Dad shouted, ‘you nearly goddamn killed him', and she said, cool as can be, ‘you fucking taught me how,’ and I don’t know if he grabbed her or what, but she told him not to touch her, ever, and she stormed out. Didn’t come back until the next morning. After that she was there, but not there you know? She came in and out, but she didn’t talk to any of us. Next thing you know, she graduated early, and enrolled in University.”

Hotch sat back in his chair considering all he just heard. It wasn’t overly surprising, teenagers test boundaries, they want to grow up too fast and they stop taking their parents word as gospel. Fighting is normal, but the school incident doesn’t sound like it was average teen behaviour.

“So she went to University, what happened after that?” Spencer wants the conversation to continue. Hotch knows he thinks the case will be solved with an accurate profile, and Hotch wants to believe that too so he doesn’t interfere.

“She moved into the dorms. She came home when she chose. Thanksgiving and Christmas.” George tells them, shrugging. “Then she got her degree in economics a year early, landed an awesome job at the bank, and bought her own house, all before she turned 22. She would still come by, it was never the same, but I don’t think Uncle Gord ever stopped hoping it could be.”

It’s food for thought, all that George has told them, but it’s not much more than that. Hotch doesn’t trust this man enough to value his opinion, and the possibility remains that he’s loyal to his cousin.

“You need to tell us if you know where she is, Mr. Porter. It will be bad for you if we leave here and find out later that you didn’t.” Hotch fixes the man with his most intimidating stare.

George’s head snaps up, eyes wide and frantic. “No! You’ve got me wrong. I’m afraid of her, just like everyone else. My stove isn’t lit so she doesn’t see the smoke and know I’m home. I don’t leave the house, or move my jeep, I just sit in the dark and wait for you lot to find her.” He insists, and the fear in his voice leaves Hotch inclined to believe him. “No. If she comes here, it won’t be for any good.”

Spencer contemplates George, who thrusts his chair back in the guise of making a new pot of coffee, to replace the one that’s still half full.

“Is there a reason she would want to hurt you?” Spencer asks, both curious and concerned.

“What?” George squeaks, then he checks himself and lowers his voice. “No. More like I don’t think she’d want to buy me a drink and reminisce. There was never any love lost between us.”

“What about your storage locker in Sandy?” Hotch fires at him while he’s off his guard.

Incredulous, his mouth drops open. “What? No, I don’t have a storage locker.” And at Hotch’s dubious stare, “I don’t, I swear!”

Spencer’s eyebrows draw together, the kitchen is quiet for a long minute, then he asks.

“Do you mind if we look around?”

* * *

Spencer is adamant that they visit Amelia’s greenhouse after leaving the Porter house, insisting that he wants to see it again before the locals start moving the plants out, touching and changing everything. Hotch isn’t sure what he hopes to get out of it, but Spencer had whole heartedly immersed himself in digging around George’s house, Amelia’s former home, as if he hoped he could find a way inside her head. Hotch suspects that the greenhouse is more of that. Hotch has his reservations, but it is early in the day and the exercise is probably good for Spencer as long as he doesn’t overdo it, so Hotch goes along with the plan.

“We’ll go, but do me a favour and let’s be cautious?” Hotch raises an eyebrow at Spencer on the drive.

“I don’t try to be reckless, Hotch, geez.” Spencer retorts.

Hotch is inclined to disagree, but that’s how they end up pulling into the Appleby farm where they greet the cop posted by the house and continue on to the hulk of a greenhouse about a quarter of a mile down the gravel drive. Hotch helps Spencer to the door, but just as he put his hand on the knob, his phone rings, and he frowns as he looks down at the screen.

“It’s Jack, I have to take it. Just a sec, ok?”

Spencer waves him on, and when Hotch steps away, he continues inside by himself. By now he’s leaning heavily on the cane, his leg protesting every step, the pins and needles in his arm hard to ignore. Still, he’s determined to take another look at the plants that Amelia so carefully nurtured, and maybe gain some insight into what she was trying to accomplish.

The greenhouse is warm, filled to bursting with greenery everywhere you look, and it is peaceful and quiet beyond the low hum of the lights, and the trickling of water. Spencer admires the multitude of exotic leafy plants, not for the first time, and the skill and tenacity that went into growing and preserving them. Some of the poppies and other species have been taken for analyses, but many more are still here, clustered under the warming lights that simulate longer days and better growing conditions, and Spencer spares a thought for the intentions of the woman who brought all this to fruition.

Standing where he is, in the main aisle that traverses from one door to the other, rows of tables fan out in tidy lanes to his left and right. A low file cabinet sits directly beside the door, but it was empty when the police searched and it is empty now, all the drawers standing open. There is a safe on top of the cabinet, also empty and open, and in all likelihood, Amelia doubled back for its contents after stabbing Spencer, and long before anyone thought to search it.

Shivering he shakes off thoughts of that fateful day, the shed, and the cruelty that Amelia is capable of, to focus his attention on the task at hand, deciding where to start.

“Do you have the tea I sent for?” A voice behind him breaks the near silence and Spencer jumps, barely suppressing a yelp at the sizzle of pain in his leg.

Spinning on his heel as fast as he dares, Spencer sees it’s a uniformed cop who spoke; not the cop they met on the way in though, and while the uniform is right, Spencer highly doubts this man has good intentions. For one thing, he shouldn’t be here, the officer they passed on the way in would have told them if someone was up here already; for another he is already stalking Spencer like a cat sees a mouse, matching his every step back, with an equal step forward. His eyes are narrowed and predatory, fixed on his prey, calculating and determined. If he pounces, he won’t miss, so Spencer stops, stands his ground, and hope’s that will buy him some time.

“Who are you?” Spencer asks, keeping any waver out of his voice. “No one is supposed to be in here.”

“Hmmn…” The man’s eyes rove over the length of Spencer’s body, lingering on his injured leg and the cane in his hand. “I could say the same for you. You didn’t bring my tea then?”

A question meant to identify the person he was hoping to meet. It has to be.

“My partner has it. He’s right outside.” Spencer tells him in as sure a voice as he can muster.

The man, not a cop Spencer is damn sure now, never even glances at the door. “Oh, no partners. We agreed. One on one or done.” He responds in a mocking tone, smile spreading wide across his face. “But then, I would bet you aren’t the one I’m looking for. Which means you are just in the wrong place, at a very bad time.”

Spencer gulps and looks to the door, praying for Hotch to appear, then forces his eyes back to the man who is moving again. He holds up his hands. “Don’t come any closer!”

There is only a scant 10 feet or so separating Spencer from the fake cop, who he can see now is carrying a very real gun in his holster. Spencer is unarmed, unsure where the hell Hotch has gotten to, and this man is between him and the door he came in. Spencer forces himself to move slowly, taking a step back toward the other door behind him, even though in reality he has no hope of reaching it in time.

“It isn’t personal,” the man drawls, unsnapping the holster at his waist, hand closing on the gun there. “But I have business here and you are going to be in the way.”

He draws the gun slowly, eyes never leaving Spencer who hates the feeling of helplessness and curses himself for not carrying a sidearm, for not waiting with Hotch, and for needing Hotch in the first place.

“Wait,” Spencer refuses to let his desperation show. He is a federal agent, and he can negotiate. “If you shoot me, you’re going to have to deal with my partner outside. We are just here to pick up the plants, we don’t want any trouble. Let me walk out, we will leave, and I will forget I ever saw you.”

The man has the gun in hand now, pointed at the ground as he clicks the safety off. “Right, the FBI is going to walk away and forget they saw me.” He laughs, as he chambers a round, and raises the gun. “Funny.”

“I’m not FBI! I’m a doctor, just a consultant. I’m only here for the plants. My partner won’t even know you were here.” Spencer reasons, taking another step back. “As far as I know, you are just a local cop who asked us to come back at a better time. It’s your best option. As soon as that gun goes off the cops stationed here, and my partner will come running. You won’t get away, then.”

That man seems to consider it, but then he smiles wickedly. “Let them come, I’ll shoot them too. I don’t mind.” He takes aim and Spencer wants to scream, but it won’t do any good, and it might get Hotch shot too.

Just as that thought crosses his mind, as if summoned, the door opens, the one Spencer is facing, and Hotch steps in taking in the scene faster than any human should be able to, reaching instantly for his gun. The man spins, and Spencer hollers.

“No!” Spencer shouts, launching himself at the gunman, covering the distance between them in a split second, cane falling to the side. The gun fires just as Spencer collides with his back, and Spencer registers the shatter of glass, and sees Hotch fall, before it’s just him wrestling with an assassin for his weapon.

Ducking the fist aimed at his face, unable to even register the pain from his previous injuries, Spencer grabs for the gun, by the grace of God knocking it from the man’s hand, but his luck is limited because he doesn’t see the uppercut that catches him in the chin, knocking him off balance. There is a kick to his injured thigh before he can regain his stance, and he howls in agony, falling back into the table behind him. He hears objects clattering as the side of his face connects with a hard surface, and then he’s on his back and the rogue cop is on him, hands closing around his throat, and Spencer sucks in a breath, bucking up in an attempt to free himself. The man’s face looms over him, leering now, looking absolutely villainous as he presses his thumbs down hard, compressing Spencer’s trachea, as he gasps desperately for air. Spencer’s vision swims as the oxygen in his lungs is depleted, and he uses the last of his strength to push, claw, and slap at his attacker. He knows he’s losing but he fights anyway because that’s all he can do, it’s the only thing. Fight like hell and try not to die.

Any hope he has is falling away and being replaced with acceptance… the other man is too strong, this is how he’s going to die, and how foolish was it to come here, to drag Hotch here…now they will never get a chance to go home together…Hotch’s son will never see his father again…his vision is fogging and all he can see is the lights above him, and they are making his head pound along with his heartbeat, which is slowing alarmingly fast…

Then the pressure is gone, and Spencer thinks it’s over, he’s dead, except it’s strange that he can breathe again. His throat aches, gurgles, as he instinctively, greedily sucks in, feeling his lungs expand. He blinks wildly, trying to see…he can make out the man’s face, still above him but contorted, and the gurgling sound isn’t coming from Spencer, but from the man whose throat is cut wide, gaping like a sinister second mouth, blood drenching his front as he slumps to the side, all the weight leaving Spencer’s chest at once.

He closes his eyes, knowing he shouldn’t, but his head is throbbing, the light is so bright, and he can feel blood congealing on his face…and someone is leaning over him, reaching for his wrist…checking his pulse?! Spencer moans, struggling to open his eyes, to latch onto a coherent thought…and a cool hand is on his chin, turning his head to the side, assessing the wound there he thinks, and that smell…new like the first days of Spring, fresh flowers, sunshine and warmth, but earthy with the promise of rain… oddly familiar.

“Amelia?” He manages to slur through his haze, his own voice raspy and unfamiliar, the effort hurting his head, his throat…there’s nothing but pain.

Laughter is his response, and this laugh is a sound he knows for sure. He will never forget because it lives permanently in the recesses of his mind. Every night he hears it in his nightmares; deceptively sweet, melodic, with a rising cadence, so separate from the memories he associates with the sound… he wills his eyes to open again, but it’s like he’s seeing through mist. He feels the presence leaving his side, stepping away, and he knows he is losing consciousness, he can feel the rising dark and welcomes its comfort even though he knows he isn’t safe, he should stay awake. With no choice but to give in, he offers one last atheist’s prayer that he will wake up again, and that when he does, Hotch will be ok. Everything will be ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't Hotch adorable when he's all mellow and trying to be sweet? I love Spencer, but I can definitely see his awkwardness ruining an intimate moment like that. 
> 
> Mwahahahaha! Did you really think our boys would get out of Utah without further incident? Of course not! They don't have luck like that, come on! But the picture of who exactly is Amelia Porter is becoming a little clearer and I'm totally on Spencer's side, I think that an absolutely 100% completed profile is their only chance at catching this femme fatale.
> 
> As always, please leave comments and kudos they feed our souls! 
> 
> I will not give anything away with what's to come so you'll just have to hit that subscribe button so you can be notified when we update and read for yourself!
> 
> ~CC~
> 
> Side note! After all this time I'd like to kind of introduce our team! ...kind of, our roles in this Aftermath adventure anyways. TC will likely argue my description of our roles, I will be receiving some texts once this is up, but I post so I can say what I want! Nahnahnahnah boo boo!
> 
> I am Callie_Cat (CC) and I get all of the easy stuff. I post and do most of the technical stuff that goes along with it, formatting and what not, I love playing around on the computer so it was an easy role to fill. I am also the beta reader for this story, so grammatical and spelling errors are my bad, I know there are a few I've missed, I'm only human!! Now while I do help with research, the plot and timeline and stuff and TC bounces ideas off of me, I do not write. I can write, not well, but it's been known to happen. My main contribution I would say is that I threw the plot bunny of this story at TC way back when, I love throwing plot bunnies at people! haha  
> terriblycontrite (TC) on the other hand is my best friend who lives way too far away from me and who does all of the actual real writing for this amazing story! She does a ton of research (I'm sure she's on some sort of watch list because of her search history), and spends endless nights writing and rewriting! If you love the writing, and I mean, who wouldn't? it is to her that you can give your thanks!
> 
> Also, also! I (CC) do read every single one of your amazing comments and they make my heart sing!! I leave the replies up to TC though because the praise is all for her and I think she should soak it all up!


	24. Unavailable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note! There are pictures in this chapter that are kind of important to the plot. If you can't see the pictures please let us know in the comments and I will try to fix ASAP!!
> 
> ~CC~

#### Chapter 24

### Unavailable

“I saw her,” Dennis Andersen, the P.E teacher declares after no more than a glance at their photo of Amelia. “He called her Annie. She used to pick him up after practices. Not like she was friendly, never spoke to her, just caught a glimpse here and there.”

“But you’re certain it was the same woman from the picture?” Kate asks, eyes following as Dennis makes his way around the gymnasium picking up stray basketballs.

“Oh I’m sure.” He confirms, tossing the ball in his hand toward a bin in the corner. “She wasn’t from here. I’d know if she was. Pretty lady, not sure what she was doing with Ryan.”

“Why do you say that?” JJ asks, standing on the sidelines with her hands tucked in her coat pockets. It is cold in the gym, this man is annoying, and she finds herself looking forward to returning to their warm suite at the Wood Buffalo Inn, so she and Kate can read through Ryan’s journals.

“Ryan was a nice kid, don’t get me wrong.” Mr. Andersen qualifies, “but this was a woman, not a girl, and I’d never even seen Ryan with a girl. He was quiet, real introvert. Didn’t have a lot of friends.”

JJ considers that as she watches the man tidy the gym, resetting it for the next class to come in. “Do you think Annie was really his girlfriend?”

“He didn’t talk to me about it, but I saw them kiss.” The coach pauses, smirking. “Before that I thought she might be a friend of his moms. I mean, understand this was a woman I’d have given my right arm to date.”

Kate suppresses an eye roll at that. “Ryan was seventeen. You didn’t think to mention the relationship to his parents? To the principal? Or to even talk to him about it?”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for her ID. I just knew she looked older.” Andersen looks offended but motions them to follow him and his bin of balls into the equipment room anyway. “You’re talking eight years ago…I had just finished college and taken this job. Guess I didn’t think it through, I was practically one of the kids still.”

“Great.” Kate mutters, taking in the cluttered racks of sports equipment crowding the small room, that smelled pungently of sweat. She didn’t want to be here anymore; this guy was getting on her nerves, and it felt like they were getting nowhere. Amelia just seemed to be able to move from place to place, undetected, with an ease that bordered on supernatural.

“I had never seen Ryan excited about anything before.” The P.E teacher shrugs. “It was cool, and he wasn’t far off eighteen either. I didn’t figure he was doing anything that he didn’t want to. Him, and any other seventeen year old boy.”

“Anything else you can tell us?” JJ interjects, before Kate can say anything that won’t help their cause. “A last name for Annie? An address? Did you ever see her around town? What about after Ryan died?”

“Why would I have her address?” Dennis scoffs, but does appear to give some thought to the rest of the question. “No last name, and now you mention it, no I can’t remember ever running into her in town. Not once, before or after Ryan passed.”

“And what about the snowmobile accident that killed Ethan Curtis, Thomas Watts and Eli Curley?” JJ presses on, her voice taking a cooler tone. They did their research, and she knows Dennis Andersen aimed to play in the NHL. “They were all into sports, avid hockey players from what we’ve heard…you coach them?”

The man stiffens, turning his back to shove some mesh bags filled with soccer balls out of his way. “I knew them from P.E class but I didn’t coach them outside of here. Hockey isn’t my game anymore. Why?”

“We heard they spent a lot of time harassing Ryan, that’s all.” JJ doesn’t mind provoking Mr. Andersen if it will get them the information they need. She isn’t a fan of his attitude, or of any teacher who turns a blind eye to bullying.

Facing them again after stuffing the bin of basketballs in place between the soccer balls, and a sorry assortment of gymnastics equipment, Dennis gives a hard done by sigh. “Yes, I guess they did. Ryan was…well some kids just seem to get picked on. I don’t think it’s right, but there it is. Ryan was moody, not half bad at basketball and soccer, decent at track, but he didn’t love it, and maybe it seemed like he thought he was…above it?”

JJ gives him a pinched smile, finished with the conversation, before handing over her card. “If you think of anything else, call us.”

She and Kate turn to make a quick exit, but she turns back thinking of one more thing the man might be able to help with. “Before we go, any chance you noticed her vehicle?”

Tucking the card in his pocket, he dips his head toward them in a dismissive way. “It was an old pick up, pretty sure it was a Chevy. Never saw the plate.” His face turns suspicious, as if he’s finally woken up and started thinking. “Mind me asking what you’re after? Ryan’s gone, been gone a long time. What are hoping to fix?”

Kate gives him a hard look. “Its Annie we're looking for. We would like to interview her regarding an open investigation.”

Mr. Andersen takes a second, then laughs loudly. “Two FBI agents fly out on a private jet from Washington to question a nameless suspect? And to bug some teachers about a near ten year old suicide? I’d bet there’s more to it than that. This might not be the big city, but we weren’t all born stupid ladies.”

Kate grits her teeth, JJ rubs at her forehead, and his laughter follows them all the way down the hall as they leave the gym. 

* * *

“Ryan was remarkable, absolutely.” Mr. Byron Atkinson, an English teacher’s name if JJ had ever heard one. A wistful look crosses the middle aged mans face, from where he sits across the desk from them.

“His poetry was mature beyond his years, as is usually the case with talented youth. He favoured free verse, though he sometimes took a metered approach. He made little effort toward rhyming, said he found it too limiting.” Byron waxes on, “he did some narratives for class that were superb, but a bit dark in subject matter. He did well with sonnets, even if he resented the need for structure, so perhaps he was in love.”

“Would a person need to be in love to write a sonnet?” Kate asks, tilting her head in thought.

Byron chuckles and offers Kate a somewhat patronizing smile. “It certainly helps, though being scorned may be arguably just as effective. The iambic parameter, the structure, and the subject of love are what denote a sonnet, which, of course, Shakespeare was famous for, and that’s what an English teacher is hired to teach. For the most part.”

JJ gives a half smile at that. She can remember being inundated with Shakespeare’s works in school. “I’m wondering, did Ryan confide in you at all? His mother said he mentioned you and thought he may have.”

“Confide?” The man repeats, folding his hands on top of his large oak monstrosity of a desk. “Yes, we had a few conversations. He never told me he wanted to die though if that’s what you’re getting at.” Byron eyes them defensively.

“You knew he was unhappy, that he was being bullied though? What did you do about that?” Kate’s voice is hard, and JJ keeps her eyes on Mr. Atkinson to gage his reaction. “Kids spend more of their awake hours in school than at home, so parents need to know they’re being supervised, protected. Was Ryan? Being protected, that is?”

Byron’s glares at the affront, hands clenching. He takes his time to formulate his response. “Ryan might have been at this school for 6 hours a day, but those hours weren’t all spent with me, in my class, agent. He told me that he hated it here, he dreamed of moving to a big city, like most kids. I told him his talent would take him there one day, I helped him enter contests, get published in newspapers. I tried to open doors, steer him toward script and playwriting, or journalism. Something he could make a career of. The point is, I tried, agents.”

Kate sneers, leaning forward stiffly. “You told a sensitive boy, living in a perpetual state of despair, his emotional pain a daily torture, that someday, someday, it might get better?” There’s a tense pause, pregnant with animosity, before Kate sits back again, crossing her arms. “Good for you, sir. Did he say anything else?”

Byron draws in a short, sharp breath, and while JJ thinks Kate was harsh, the man does seem suitably ashamed. Moving his hands to his lap, he looks down at them. “He told me about Ethan Curtis, the harassment, that he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. I advised him to talk to his parents, and I went to the principal. Very little was done, but I told myself Ryan was a teenager and teenagers go through rough patches. I hoped things would get better.” He brings his head up and JJ can see the guilt now, etched across a face that appears to have aged in the time since they walked into the classroom.

“You come north to places like this, where they need teachers desperately, because you think you’re going to do some good.” Byron keeps on, and JJ isn’t without sympathy. After all, that’s what the BAU is about too, trying to do some good in a world that fights you on it. “Then you meet kids like Ryan, and you realize it takes more than moving here to make a difference. I thought I did what I could, I know now it wasn’t enough, that I should have done more.”

Kate opens her mouth, but JJ shakes her head and gives her a pointed stare. She let’s the teachers last words sink in before she speaks again.

“Did you know Ryan was dating someone?” JJ turns back to the practical. “Right before he died?”

He inclines his head once. “I did, he mentioned it. She didn’t go to this school and I never met her, but it did seem to make him happy for a time.”

“For a time?” JJ prods, curious about this man’s take on the ghost of a relationship that seemed to represent Ryan’s only light in the dark.

“Yes,” he answers slowly. “It was a brief reprieve. After that awful accident that killed Ethan and those other boys, Ryan got worse again. The whole school was in mourning, I assumed he got caught up in it even if the boys weren’t friends. Hard not to, all that sadness. I tried to talk to him as he was leaving school on the Thursday before he died, but he brushed me off. He was absent on the Friday and by Monday…well you know the rest.”

JJ does know and it makes her cringe. This man conceivably missed his chance to save Ryan, and she wasn’t sure if she should be mad at him for giving up so easily, or sorry for him because he will likely never forgiven himself. “I know it was a long time ago, but is there anything else you remember that might be helpful? Anything at all?” JJ coughs to clear the lump in her throat and moves on with the interview.

“I’m afraid not, but if I think of anything else, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Byron stands to see them out, coming around the desk and offering his hand to shake, eager for them to go.

JJ and Kate are out the classroom door and down the hall before he calls to them.

“Annie Little!” He shouts. “It’s the name he would doodle in the margins of his notebooks. Could be the name of his mystery woman.”

* * *

Dave had found it hard to stop working the previous night, but he is not as young as he used to be, and he eventually gave in to the call of decent scotch and a warm bed. Sleep didn’t come easy though and returning to his office late the next morning he feels entirely wary of the continuing search for the ever-elusive Amelia Porter, and the mountain of paperwork related to it that remains heaped on his desk.

Tossing his phone down, he slumps into his chair, wondering why Hotch hasn’t checked in again and what he’s doing this morning. He had debated calling him last night after Kate and JJ called to say they landed safely and were heading for their hotel, but it had been late, and he didn’t want to disturb the other men if they had managed to find some peace. Maybe they even slept in this morning, he thinks, though it hardly stops him from worrying. It’s unlike Hotch to be so distant, and the last, and only time, Dave can recall him checking out like this was when Foyet was plaguing them and Hotch was losing faith. He didn’t trust the team to help then, and it’s beginning to seem like he doesn’t now.

Dave leans back further, engaging in an internal debate, trying to sort out what’s been happening to the team since this case went south, and what he should do about it. So far, Hotch hasn’t been willing to confide in him, but Dave isn’t clueless. There is only one thing that makes a man as rigid as Hotch toss rationality aside, and that’s love. Back when Foyet was doing his worst, it was Hotch’s love of his wife and son that made him vulnerable; now, near as Dave can figure, it’s his feelings for Spencer Reid and that could spell trouble. This is not the time for Hotch to be letting down his guard and making rash decisions.

Deep into his thoughts on averting disaster, Dave fails to notice the clack of high heels approaching and is uncharacteristically caught off guard when an entirely too perky Garcia pops up in his open doorway. Sitting upright too quickly, his knee connects with the desk and he curses under his breath, before plastering a smile on his face to greet the intrepid technical analyst.

“Oops! Sorry, sir.” She chirps, sounding anything but. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I heard you come in, and I am hoping to share my newest findings with a warm body.”

She doesn’t wait for an invite before bustling in and seating herself in the only other chair, shoving Dave’s own paperwork aside, to make space to offload everything she is carrying onto the desk. He watches fondly as she sets herself up, knowing that intervening would be like trying to stop a boulder rolling downhill.

“Think nothing of it, mio tessoro.” Dave pours the accent on thick. “Now, I am always pleased to see your lovely face, but might I inquire as to where Morgan is this morning? He is generally your first choice of warm bodies.”

She gives him an indulgent grin, taking a break from the papers she’s been shuffling through, just long enough to give a flirty flip of her hair and a wink. “Well of course he is, but you, mio amato, are an excellent substitute since he has gone home to catch some z’s. We are dividing to conquer.”

“Ah, well second choice isn’t so bad for an old man like me.” He digresses, folding his hands on the desk top, studying his companion carefully. “What about you sweetheart? Did you get any sleep?” Penelope has a relationship with coffee and sugar that makes her appear wide awake with disturbingly little actual rest in Dave’s opinion.

“Oh sure!” She promises, bobbing her head, without any real attention to his words. “I went home, took a shower, and had a long, luxurious cat nap. Very refreshing! Now I am back before you, better than ever, working at dangerous speeds, to bring you this!” She triumphantly produces a folder from the pile she brought along, pushing it across the desk into Dave’s hands. “That,” she tells him, “is everything in a nutshell, that Derek and I have found since we started trying to connect Amelia to Green, and Green to the cartel, and then Amelia to the cartel through Green…or something like that…anyway, read it over! There is some eye-opening stuff there that I really think changes our perception of Ms. Porter.”

Relaxing back in her seat, Penelope appears content to watch him read, which he tries to do at top speed, though he can’t hold a candle to Reid in that department. He can feel his eyebrows drawing together as he follows the trail that Garcia has marked for him, and while he can’t begin to fathom how she managed to put it all together, in the end, his heart sinks because it really is a trail to nowhere.

He clears his throat, glancing up to meet her earnest gaze, which is trained on him awaiting his reaction. “Wow, this is…” he trails off choosing his next words carefully, “well it certainly is fascinating, Penelope. I honestly am not sure what to make of it all.” That was the truth. “Lucas Olson inherited the Porters entire estate, but we don’t even know how he knew them? Or if he knew Amelia at all.”

Penelope shifts, her face hardening slightly. She was ready to defend her work, Dave knew she would be, and if he were writing a novel this stuff would be gold. As the basis for an investigation, it left him more lost than ever.

“No, not yet.” Penelope qualifies reluctantly. “I do know that they were both drafted to the Vietnam war at the same time. They could have met that way. Serving together forms lasting bonds, you would know that.”

“Fair.” He responds, scrutinizing the file again. “How does Green connect with Lucas Olson?”

“Well, he doesn’t so far.” Penelope admits. “But they both connect to Amelia. That’s the point.”

Dave nods, wondering how much more mystery they can take on before they start solving some of it. “And how does the cartel factor into this?”

Penelope lets her breath out in an agitated sigh, reaching over to direct him to a different page. “Not sure, yet, but look! I haven’t even shown this to Derek yet, I found it after he left. University records are entirely too easy to access if you ask me. Figuratively speaking, they put them in a locking file cabinet and then never bothered to lock it.”

Dave is fairly sure that it’s more complicated than that. More like they did not anticipate master hackers being interested in their files, so they failed to properly secure them, but that’s a topic for later.

“So, legally obtained then?” He asks of the information he’s holding.

Penelope scoffs. “Legal enough. I mean if you let me in the room, you can’t expect me not to snoop.”

Dave tsks but lets it go. “Oh my, so our friend Green really is a bit unsavory. Derek will feel vindicated anyway…wait, this is his original connection to Amelia? An affair when she was only 17?!”

What Dave is holding is a personnel file on Zelen Green, stretching back to when he first received tenure at age 32, documenting a disturbing number of misconduct complaints for a man still gainfully employed.

Garcia smiles excitedly, glad to have his full attention. “Uh huh, so it seems. He was quite the Casanova with his students, which the university frowns upon but isn’t technically illegal. Amelia was the only under age girl he had relations with, and by the time it was reported Amelia was only days from turning 18. That’s how it got swept under the proverbial dirty rug.”

Dave can’t deny that he’s invested in the story now.

“Knowing Amelia enrolled in University at age 17, of course she must have graduated high school early, so I checked out her alma mater.” Garcia keeps the conversation moving, eager to maintain his interest. “Now, if Universities are terrible at keeping secrets, imagine how bad high schools are! Ridiculous, but since it is to my benefit in this case we will talk no more about it.”

Dave suppresses an eye roll. He’s glad it will be Cruz that fields the paranoid call if someone becomes curious as to why they were hacked by the FBI.

“Anyhow, back to things that were swept under the aforementioned filthy rug!” Penelope exclaims. “Turns out Amelia only opted to graduate early after an ‘incident’, that should have ended in criminal charges, or at least expulsion, but instead was hushed up and glossed over in a big way. A student, Thomas Fuller, running back for the football team, was badly beaten outside the gym after practice.” Garcia directs him to the police report amongst the papers he was given. “It’s all laid out in there, and it is gruesome…severe nasal fracture, zygomatic fracture, 3 broken ribs…, bruising, lacerations, there was a chunk missing from his lip,” Garcia makes a face and grimaces, “and believe it or not, a ruptured testicle.”

Dave crosses his legs, wincing at the damage. “Amelia did all that? It seems hardly likely. This took some serious strength, not to mention anger. And how were there no charges?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Garcia tilts her head, waving a hand at the report in Dave’s hand. “There were witnesses who said Thomas started it, and with significant bruising on Amelia’s throat, Thomas could easily have been charged too I would think, and Amelia could have claimed self-defense. Instead, everyone seemed to agree Amelia would leave school and no one would ever speak of the ‘incident’ again.

“Who were these witnesses?” Dave asks, absorbing that logic.

“Two friends of Thomas’ and the gym coach. It was the coach who broke up the fight.”

“We should talk to this Coach. He would be the most reliable.” Dave thinks out loud.

“The last page you have there is his contact info.” Garcia supplies, helpfully. “I also sent it all to your tablet, so you can access it there too. His name is Sean Adams and he’s retired but still lives in Salt Lake City.”

“As always you are magic, Ms. Garcia.” Dave smiles widely at her.

“Oh, don’t I know it! Poof, information where there was none before. I really should have a cape.” Garcia replies with humor, but no modesty. “Wait though, you should know that according to school records Amelia could have graduated sooner, in fact it’s debatable whether she needed to go to high school at all. Her grades were off the charts in all subjects, freshman year she scored 186 on the standard IQ test, and Spring of her junior year she scored a perfect 1600 on the SATs!”

Dave whistles through his teeth at that. “So, we are talking Spencer Reid smart?”

“It would seem so.” Garcia confirms. “Though SAT scores on their own are not indicative, combined with her grades and IQ score, I would say she is, another verifiable genius, albeit a possibly evil one.”

Dave quirks an eyebrow at her. “Possibly?”

Garcia looks over her shoulder as if she wants to ensure their privacy before she answers, which Dave thinks is a little strange, then says in a conspiratorial tone. “There’s one more thing that I found, that might be something, or maybe nothing…I’m telling you first because Derek is definitely on board the ‘Amelia is a crazed psychopath train’ and I can’t seem to convince him that-“

Dave holds up a hand to stop her there, suppressing a smile. “Penelope, how about you just go ahead and tell me, and I promise to keep an open mind.”

Penelope bites at the corner of her mouth, glancing behind her again, deciding how best to present what she learned. “It’s about Lucas Olson’s murder.” She blurts, then continues with her usual enthusiasm. “It remains unsolved, but the locals did have a suspect at the time, or rather three suspects, college kids from the University in Salt Lake City with an impressive history of trouble making.”

Dave motions for her to keep going, not wanting to interrupt until he was sure he understood where she was going with this. Penelope takes a deep breath and Dave can tell she’s as excited about what she found as she is apprehensive about sharing with him.

“Lucas Olson was known to hire out his tracking and hunting skills privately on occasion, and these three suspects, Jaxson Caddell, Karson Lowe, and Landon Hart were the last people to hire him, just days before he was murdered. They told police they met him at his cabin, and he took them moose hunting, but that they had no idea what happened to him after that. I’m not a police detective, but in my mind their alibies were shoddy at best. They came from their frat brothers who swore they were hosting a party that day and well into the night. All the details have been sent to your tablet, and they are on paper in the file you’re holding, so short version, they were never arrested or even questioned further, to spite the fact that blood matching Jaxson Caddell’s DNA was found at the scene, as well as footprints that were size matches for Jaxson Caddell and Landon Hart.”

“I’m surprised that they were willing to give DNA samples.” Dave comments, trying not to judge the police work.

“Oh, they didn’t, Jaxson Caddell was a suspect in a rape during his freshman year at the University.” Penelope says. “He was cleared of that, but he and his friends had been a constant worry for campus authorities since then, the subject of multiple noise complaints, drunken disturbances, fights, and more seriously, distributing marijuana.”

“Nice kids,” Dave notes sarcastically.

“Anyway, that is just the lead up to what I really want to tell you,” Garcia claps her hands together. “They are rich kids who just might have gotten away with murder only to have karma catch up with them, and I take no glee in this because they’re kids, unless they killed Lucas and then I might a little…wait, no I don’t because that would make me as bad as they are, but maybe-“

“Penelope!” Dave cuts her off, loudly. “Circle back to what you were going to say. I’m not judging you, just listening.”

Penelope pauses to catch her breath, nodding. “Of course, sir. So, the thing is Jaxson Caddell and Landon Hart were both found beaten and stabbed in an alley behind a pretty shady strip club, about 6 weeks after Lucas’ death. The police came up with no plausible suspects, and no one has ever been arrested for their murders.”

It takes Dave a moment to process that and come around to what Garcia might be getting at. “Wait, so you think what exactly?” He asks turning in his chair to fully face her.

“What am I-?” Garcia repeats haughtily, then quickly adjusts her tone to a more respectful one. “I think that Lucas Olson gave Amelia a farm, that he was a family friend and a loyal one at that, and that Amelia cared about him, sociopath or not. I think that Jaxson and Landon killed Lucas for some reason, to gain access to his marijuana garden possibly, and that Amelia killed them when the law failed to bring them to justice.”

Dave chews on that, faintly amused by Garcia’s irritation with him. She must feel strongly about what she’s saying then, but it still feels like an awfully big jump to him. Afterall, these kids were found outside a dive bar, in a bad part of town, so the more likely conclusion is that it was a mugging or drug deal gone wrong. Even if it were Amelia acting as a vigilante, hell bent on revenge, it is unlikely they can prove it, or that it would point them to her current location. Again, it is good plot filler, but functionally lacking for their current goal.

“I’m impressed, as usual, and I am going to go over everything you’ve found and see what I can make of it. Sound good?” Dave says instead of voicing his concerns.

“All I can ask,” Garcia chirps, grateful for the moment. “I’m going to get back to work. Derek will be back soon, and we are going to work on the organized crime angle. Spencer says only an accurate profile will catch this lady, and we are not going to let him down.” She stands then, tapping the files she brought with her. “Remember, all of this is neatly available on your tablet as well.”

He chuckles, waving as she heads for the door, then thinks of something. “Penelope, wait!” He calls before she heads out the door. “Have you spoken to Hotch today?”

“Early this morning. I gave him the information on Lucas Olson, and what I had on George Porter, the cousin interviewed by police after Miriam’s death. Why?”

“Just curious, he didn’t answer when I called on my way in here. He should be making himself available.” Dave worries, wondering if an interview with George Porter might have gone badly. He will try calling again as soon as Garcia leaves. “Do you have any idea what’s going on with them?”

Garcia cocks her head, giving him a searching look. “In Salt Lake City, you mean?”

Dave resists sighing. He probably shouldn’t have said anything, but he can’t take it back now. Not with Penelope in super sleuth mode.

“I mean in general.” Dave ventures, choosing his words carefully. “They’ve become thick as thieves. Is there something I missed?”

Now Garcia looks like she’s questioning his mental health. “Unsure what you mean, sir. Hotch became the new Gideon in Spencer’s life a long time ago. He’s protective. I know our boy genius stays late to talk. Hotch listens to him. They’re good for each other. I’m not sure Spencer opens up to the rest of us.”

“Sure, of course. I know Hotch mentors him.” Dave tries to expand without upsetting the apple cart, so to speak. “But he has been in Salt Lake City away from his son for weeks now, and the team is leaderless. I just wondered if something was affecting Hotch’s judgement.” Too far, Dave thinks, wincing as soon as he says it.

Penelope turns her full focus on him, eyes boring into his accusingly. “Due respect, sir, but he couldn’t leave Spencer alone after what he went through. That’s a terrible thought.” Garcia’s indignation is bordering on anger at the suggestion.

“No, but did you know I offered to stay?” Dave can tell from her reaction that she didn’t. “I didn’t have a 9-year-old son waiting at home, and I am not the chief either. For that matter, you could have stayed. You can do your magic from anywhere, correct? My offer was declined in no uncertain terms, as I’ve no doubt yours would have been.”

Garcia is scrutinizing him now in a way that tells Dave without a doubt he has tipped his hand; and it’s a hand she hadn’t considered, which is interesting. Maybe he is entirely off base.

“Are you…” she starts but thinks better of it. Treating him to another indulgent smile, she finishes. “They are friends and Spencer needs Hotch right now. It’s a good thing that the boss man is showing some heart and we can all manage in the meantime.”

For a tense few seconds they stare each other down, a silent showdown, ending in an equally silent agreement to move on.

“Anyway, I have work to…well work on, and you have a lot of reading to do.” She gestures to his desk with a genuine look of amusement. “I will check in later, but you know where to find me if you need me!”

Watching her go Dave knows he just opened a can of worms and can’t decide whether to congratulate or kick himself.

* * *

By the time they get back to their room at the Inn, JJ finds herself more than ready to soak up some warmth and comfort from the cozy surroundings. Eating from take out containers, wrapped in quilts, they each take one of the journals and try to wrap their heads around the scrawled writings, poems, and briskly sketched drawings, that hint at deeply hidden meanings, but aren’t providing quite the insight that they had hoped.

“Listen to this, JJ.” Kate props the book in her lap and reads ruefully aloud. ****

“Intense but if we were expecting something we could use as evidence, I don’t think this is it.”

JJ’s lips twist into a grim smile of acknowledgement. Her book is no different, some of the entries aren’t even dated, there are sentences that makes sense, but they meld into longer writings that are not at all straightforward.

“What do you think of that? Are we looking at someone who is schizophrenic, psychotic, or just a teenager going through a rough time?” JJ asks Kate, wishing that Spencer were here with his combined background in psychology, sociology, and philosophy. He would be better able to analyze what they were reading, and separate angst from mental illness.

Kate snorts. “Don’t we always say that teens profile as sociopaths?”

“Yes, but does that read as a real threat? It’s not quite a plan, but it sounds like hurting someone at least crossed his mind.” JJ insists, not liking the overall negative feel of Ryan’s writing, the impression that it’s building toward something bad.

Kate considers it, shifting to see the writing over JJ’s shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t think so. I’m not a handwriting expert but sometimes he writes like he’s lying-in bed just thinking, and other times he’s pressing his pen practically through the page, like he’s desperate and has to get the words out but wants the feelings to go with them, even in written form you know? It reads like a desire for things to get better, not like he’s given up hope.”

Again, JJ wishes Spencer were here to decide. “Most of it is so random, its not like he has it all neatly labeled and dated. You’re right, we may not get what we need from this, Kate.”

“I don’t know, hang on, what is the date on the entry you just read me?” Kate sits up crossing her legs in front of her, reaching for the third journal.

“The gym thing? Um…September 9, 2003. So, right after the school year started probably.”

“Ok, look here!” Kate pushes the second book toward JJ. “This book starts in August 2004 and the last dated entry is May of 2005. Now, my book picks up in 2005 where that one ends, still in May. Every page is filled and it’s last entry is dated December 11, 2006. Ryan committed suicide on January 7, 2007. Why didn’t he start a new book? He had never gone that many days without writing before.”

“Maybe he had already made his decision and he wasn’t driven to write anymore?” JJ offers, though it was obviously how Ryan expressed himself, how he processed emotions, pouring out his thoughts out on paper, trying to make sense of them. He spoke to the diary like a therapist, she would expect him to ‘talk’ out his decision to end his life the same way. A sort of private suicide note.

Kate sits up straighter, facing JJ. “Or Charlotte didn’t give us the last journal, and if she didn’t, why not?”

JJ slumps back against the rustic wood headboard behind her to mull that over. Charlotte had seemed eager to share Ryan’s story with them, to direct some attention to his story, which had been overshadowed by the accidental deaths of the snowmobilers. She had been left all alone a long time with her grief, and JJ had surmised that giving them the journals was a way of sharing that grief finally, lessening the burden. She thought the woman had been honest with them, but maybe it was just too painful to let go of her son’s last words.

Kate is leafing through the journal in her hands with purpose again, pulling post its from the pad beside her to mark pages. “Ok, the first time Ryan mentions a woman is in March of 2006 as far as I can tell. He goes on to write poems that center around love, there are sketches of a lady with dark hair…happy love talk peaks in the summer, then goes on a downward spiral.” She plops the book in JJ’s lap. “You take a look and see what you think. The post its are the entries where he actually mentions a woman he is in love with.”

JJ opens to the first neon pink post it and reads:

“Kate! This is something. What’s on McDougal Road? We need to find out.” JJ rereads the entry wondering if this really was Amelia, what was going through her head when she picked Ryan up. If it was an entirely random meeting, like it seemed, did she actually just need directions? JJ doesn’t think there is much chance that a survivalist, who could elude an entire police force and the FBI, couldn’t read a map.

Kate waves a hand at the journal. “Keep reading. I’m not sure the McDougal Road thing will help us, but we can check it out later.”

JJ flips to the next post it marked page:

“Wow,” JJ says, shaking her head. “That’s pretty deep for a teenage boy. He makes her sound otherworldly.”

Kate laughs at that. “Well, a teenage boy having sex with a mysterious older woman might actually believe she was. I had a fling with a professor in college. I was certainly awed by him.”

“Did you think the sun couldn’t melt him?” JJ responds doubtfully, and Kate laughs again.

“Not exactly, but I definitely failed to notice he had been divorced 3 times, and that the number of students he had been smitten with before me was in the double digits.”

JJ grins, recalling some of her infatuations. It was easy to get carried away seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, the way people tend to do when they fall in love.

Kate produces the few photos they have of Amelia and reaches to turn some pages in the journal that JJ is still holding. “Take a look at the sketch here,” she points. “Does that not look like our Amelia?”

It is only a rough pencil sketch, but the resemblance is uncanny. The shape of the woman’s face is perfect match, cheekbones prominent, chin tapering to a pleasant V, eyes perfectly oval and slightly hooded, hair shaded darkly. Visually she is stunning, but the poem on the next page indicates that there was more than looks to Ryan’s attraction.

JJ lets out her breath in a long sigh, trying to imagine Amelia the way Ryan saw her. Passionate, free spirited, uninhibited, all the things he longed to be himself. Her looks would seduce him, but it would be her confidence that would intrigue him. She would appear like someone who couldn’t be bullied, and her strength would entice an inexperienced boy who hadn’t found his place in the world. Amelia would know it, and she would use it, reeling him in, feeding off of him until she got what she wanted, and then discarding him. It could be what brought Ryan so low that he took his own life. That sort of intensity leaves a mark long after it burns out.

“Ok, JJ listen, I had a thought.” Kate pats the bed between them excitedly. “The snowmobile accident Charlotte talked about happened on December 3, 2006 right? There are random journal entries, mostly poems, that have no date, but they were made between December 2 and December 10, so it was certainly after the accident. Then, December 11 is really disturbing. Check it out.” She finds and points out the page to JJ.  
  


“Kate, that’s awful…” JJ trails off as she takes in what she’s read. “The soul bleeds, and what he did…his mother read this. It must have broken her heart.”

“Yes, there is no limit to the ways human beings can hurt each other with love.” Kate frowns, but shakes it off to make her point. “But JJ, we need to find out exactly what happened with this snowmobile accident, because what if Ryan had something to do with it? He said he wished he wasn’t there in the woods, and I’m pretty sure that’s where it happened. What if Amelia helped him, put him up to it maybe, or just encouraged him? His journal reads like he was madly in love with her at first, then not so much by the end when he starts talking about letting go, and then betrayal…if they did something awful together the guilt could have torn them apart, made him desperate enough to commit suicide, right?”

“God, I don’t know Kate. It’s a bit of a leap. How would they make an accident like that happen? Tamper with the snowmobiles?” JJ considers it for another moment. “It’s a bit farfetched…we thought she might have pushed Ryan into suicide…but could she be acting as some sort of vigilante, helping the weak? Benton said she made him feel good about himself, she could have helped him kill Miriam because she left and stopped protecting Benton from their father…”

“It’s a different perspective on what we know, for sure.” Kate responds thoughtfully. “First things first, we need the report from the snowmobile accident, and I think we should ask Charlotte for the last journal. Oh, and call Hotch and bring him up to speed too right?”

“We should, but I tried him when we got in, while we were waiting for lunch.” JJ shares, with a worried crease to her brow at the reminder. “Both his and Spence’s phone’s went to voicemail. It’s pretty rare that they are unavailable on a case. I’ll try Dave, I haven’t spoken to him since last night, and you see what you can get from the locals on the snowmobilers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> But if you try sometimes, well, you might find  
> You get what you need
> 
> Haha! Just be glad you don't have to actually hear me singing that. Lots of dialogue and stuff to add to the profile and some really great information in this chapter! ...but no, you don't get to know what's become of the boys in the greenhouse just yet! But the team is starting to wonder where they are too! TC and I wouldn't want Garcia hacking our computers, so we'll be sure to let everyone know where Hotch and Spence are and more importantly how they are in the next chapter. 
> 
> Don't you just LOVE Ryan's journal? I'm going to toot my own horn here, I totally put all of that together! I love playing around on the computer, as I said, and this chapter actually let me spread my wings! I will be 100% honest, TC and I did not draw any of those sketches, so they're kind of taken from the internet... but to the artists, none of which were credited on my google searches, I swear we are not making any money and we fully admit we did not draw them! The sketch of Amelia is just a filter on a photo of Avery Clyde, the actor who portrayed Amelia in the episode. 
> 
> I've been told that I have to let you all know that I actually did some writing in this chapter! Go me! To be fair I didn't write any of it with the intention of it being in a fanfiction... But some of the poetry in this chapter was taken from my angsty teenage years. (to clarify, my teenage years were over 15 years ago...)
> 
> Let us know what you think of Amelia now that we've had some insight into her upbringing and a few of those missing years after Miriam's murder. Also, add in your comments what you thought of the formatting for the journal! Interesting? Pointless? Comments and kudos feed our addiction!
> 
> If you're really anxious to know where the boys are, subscribe to be notified when we update. I promise that they are in the next chapter, how they are... well you'll have to read to find out, I make no promises.
> 
> ~CC~


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